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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406628">Bleeding Hearts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chicken_Nuggets800/pseuds/Chicken_Nuggets800'>Chicken_Nuggets800</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Dad! Wilbur, Do not separate Tommy and Tubbo, Dream is a badass, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, George is a badass, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Online Personas, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Strangers to Lovers, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, be prepared for feels, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:47:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chicken_Nuggets800/pseuds/Chicken_Nuggets800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream observed the street with a quiet sort of detachment. Trash bounced from one spot to the other in the wind, abandoned and forgotten. When there was no one around to clean up after mankind, the world got surprisingly messy. No, not so surprisingly, actually.</p><p>While in the beginning it always came as a shock to him to see the disarray the world had fallen into, after what felt like forever of seeing the same destruction, he’d grown used to it.</p><p>How long had it been? He had counted in the beginning. He had counted the days that fell into months, and months that fell into a year… At some point he had just… stopped. It was useless to try and remember what day it was in a life that could kill you at any moment. It wouldn’t change what happened in the past either, so why bother remembering if it was a Tuesday or a Friday?</p><p>Maybe that was the pessimist inside of him talking though. That, or the realist.</p><p>The only thing that mattered in this goddamn wasteland was if he could live to see another day or not.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>282</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A solitary survivor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know that the Zombie apocalypse au has been done many times before, but I've been itching to do one for a while now. So here the first chapter is!<br/>P.S I might not be able to update this as quickly, because I've been working on other Dteam fics at the same time :)</p><p>Disclaimer time: This is completely for fun and self indulgence, don't take this too seriously. I do know the complications of shipping real people, and I would never force my views on anyone, let alone Dream and George. I respect them way too much for that. This is based more on their internet personas anyway, and is in no way meant to be disrespectful.</p><p>Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The big cities were the first to fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Densely populated areas with little to no protection from the threat of an infection? Of course none of them survived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the first cases of a new sickness made their way to the news, it was already too late. One infection led to another, and another, and another, until it was too late to contain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It spread across the world in weeks flat. No place on earth was untouched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The highly populated spread the quickest, obviously. China, India, America. Some places more than others. The farmlands and small towns were probably the best places to be during all this. With less people and more space around, it took longer for the infected to make their way there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But make their way they did, and they too eventually succumbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole world collapsed in less than a month.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With no one working on communications anymore, everyone was cut off from one another. Cell phones were down, walkie talkies were a hard commodity to come by, and the internet was a thing of the past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in centuries, humanity was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one really knew how it came out. Some people speculated that it had been biological warfare; created by mankind to help them win a secret war. Others thought it was man-made but had been accidentally released. Few people believed it came from animals, from nature itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t care where it came from. And he was pretty sure most of the people who did were dead. Most of the population was. That, or even worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Undead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes he had to wonder if being alive was even worth it at this point. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’d considered just… Giving up. His gun looked worryingly enticing on the days that he felt he couldn’t keep going. He always managed to pull through in the end, though. He just didn’t know how long that would last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of all the ways Dream had thought the world might end, the last one he had thought it would be was a zombie apocalypse. Global warming, sure. Maybe even a meteor; they’d go out the way the dinosaurs did. Not an infection that turned people in manic cannibals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was the kind of guy who used to laugh at zombie movies. He’d boo and call the people in them stupid. It had always seemed so unrealistic to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t laughing now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had rolled his eyes at the cliché trope of the main character stuck in an overrun city, with nowhere to go. Now he pitied the poor souls trapped inside those such infested places.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just unfortunate that Dream himself lived in a city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hospitals were taken over first, though that wasn’t saying much. It just spread from there. Infected had swarmed the streets, forcing more and more innocent people to join their ranks. Screams and cries had echoed through the air for hours and hours on end. Countless car crashes, house fires, and robberies followed the initial massacre. Chaos reigned supreme.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of the week there was barely anyone left. Hordes of those creatures roamed the streets, searching for more prey. Constantly hungry and wanting-</span>
  <em>
    <span>craving</span>
  </em>
  <span> the taste of human flesh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One day life was normal. The next he had undead neighbours clawing at his door. The apartment block he’d found himself living in for so long had become a nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even after so long, he remembered that first night so vividly. It still haunted him. Then Again, most things haunted him nowadays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most days he was perfectly content to just ignore his past and focus on the present. If you didn’t do exactly that, you could be caught unaware way too easily. And being caught unaware, more likely than not, meant death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd been playing a videogame with one of his friends when it happened. Such a mundane thing to do that he had never thought twice about before, but now he missed it so much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them were just chatting and joking around from across their screens, characters playing chicken with how close they could jump to the edge before they fell to their death. Dream, being the parkour god he was in video games, beat his friend almost every single time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. How are you so good at this?” Sapnap groaned as he fell into lava, burning until he died unceremoniously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” Dream laughed, continuing on with his daring leaps from area to area without much thought. “Practice, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” He heard a grunt, unconvinced or unhappy, he wasn’t sure. “My friend George would kick your ass at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffed playfully. “As if.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know this ‘George’ that Sapnap had mentioned many times before, but he did know that Sapnap was always trying to get them to meet each other. He claimed they would be good friends. He didn’t know about that, though he trusted Sapnap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They just always kept missing each other because of their time zones. He was from the UK while Dream from Florida, so they had very different hours. When one was playing, the other wasn’t. Unfortunate, but whatever. It wasn’t like he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make more friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>…Even if having another one wouldn’t hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s actually flying out to see me today.” Sapnap continued, ignoring his teasing smugness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, really?” He asked, surprised. That was a long flight to take.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. He’s gonna be staying with me for a week or so. Maybe then you’ll finally get to meet him.” He hummed his agreement. “I really think you’ll like him, man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh hey, have you been watching the news lately?” The conversation took a quick turn that he didn’t quite expect. He stopped running, pausing in place, and pulled his hands off his keyboard as he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While it took him a moment to realise why he was asking, it did click in his mind soon enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been on the news for a week already. It was practically all anyone talked about. A new virus had hit countries across the globe with an infection rate that soared through the roof. Especially in such a short amount of time. It had all been pretty hush-hush. There hadn’t been much information explaining what exactly it was or where it had come from, but leaders around the world advised citizens to stay indoors and keep from going outside as much as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that people had listened, really. No one took it seriously, let alone Americans like them. Aside from the conspiracy theorists. They had been having a field day with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re talking about the new virus, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Real life zombies. Who’d have thought?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Real life-” He choked on a laugh, wheezing heavily through his mic. “You’re ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No no, I’m serious.” And for once his friend did sound it. The way he spoke sobered him up pretty quickly. “I’ve heard that the people who get infected turn cannibal and stop feeling pain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zombies</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? And where’d you hear this?” He pressed, admittedly a bit sceptical of his claim. And it showed in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I mean… I don’t know, they’re mostly rumours. But more and more people are talking about it. And apparently entire cities and countries have gone dark in a matter of days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I used to. But now? I don’t know, man. It seems too much to be fake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why haven’t I heard about it?” He continued dubiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because they don’t want us to find out. They don’t want us to panic, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, if this is a joke-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a joke. I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream opened his mouth to speak, before a deafening </span>
  <em>
    <span>crash</span>
  </em>
  <span> echoed through the air. He flinched backwards violently, headphones falling down to hang around his neck. “What the…” He breathed, pushing his chair back and standing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” Apparently even Sapnap had heard it, his confused voice coming through his headset faintly. He pulled it back onto his head shakily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, there was just this… loud noise.” He leaned to the side, pulling his curtains open to peer outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately he felt overwhelmed at the sight before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the street below, nearly a dozen people ran about in a frantic panic, bumping into each other and stumbling over themselves. Running away from… Something. Something he couldn’t see, no matter how much he squinted down. The source of the sound was obvious though; a car sat nestled in the bricks of the apartment building across from his. It was very clearly wrecked beyond repair, crushed metal and shattered glass flung everywhere. Smoke drifted up from the car’s engine and, from what he could see, a fire had started to creep out from the hood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The driver lay slumped over behind the wheel, unmoving. Yet not a single person in the street below stopped for even a second to help them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clay? What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was a car crash. I don’t know if the driver’s okay, but… People look like they’re panicking about something.” He quickly logged out of the game. “I’m gonna go see if anyone’s hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Sapnap was concerned, that much was obvious. About what exactly, Dream didn’t know. It was appreciated though. “Be careful out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will. Talk to you soon.” With a simple click he ended their call and untangled himself from his headphones. Slipping on sneakers with about as much hurry as he could muster without tripping himself up, he unlocked his door and left his apartment. He didn’t bother to lock it behind him, knowing he would probably be back there soon. He raced downstairs, passing a few confused faces, and a few more panicked ones on the way down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He met a neighbour at the bottom, the man who lived down the hall from him. An older, divorced man who only got to see his kids every second weekend. It didn’t stop him from talking about them constantly though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” He asked Chris, panting slightly at taking the stairs too quickly. “I saw that someone crashed out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw too. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I’m going to find out. You coming, kid?” When he nodded, he continued forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He followed after him, letting the older man take the lead. They moved outside and immediately had to step back again when a hysterical woman ran past them, screaming her head off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell…” Chris murmured, brows furrowing. “It’s chaos out here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he had a better view of the street and the buildings around it, he could tell just how bad things had gotten all of a sudden. Smoke seeped out from apartment windows. People a few streets over were running around in a panic too. The car that had crashed into the opposite building to them was only one of many wrecked or abandoned cars that littered the streets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And not to mention the screams and cries of people all over the place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How had he not noticed any of this before?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head of his confusion, he made his way towards the car. The fire had spread a bit more and was steadily creeping towards the front seats, concerningly close to the still unconscious driver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris helped him pry the door open, tugging as hard as they could to get it unstuck. As soon as it was open wide enough, he gestured with his head towards the still form of the driver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream understood the silent command and slowly, carefully, pulled the listless woman out of her car. As soon as she was clear of the crash he placed her down on the ground gently, looking over her with a concerned frown. She must have gotten some kind of injury to the face during the crash, because from the forehead down she was covered in thick blood. Along her arms and up her neck her veins showed up in sickly hues of green and black.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> definitely wasn’t normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she okay?” He asked anxiously, not sure how to proceed. Should he… check her pulse? Take her inside the building to make sure she was okay? Call an ambulance? He looked up at Chris for help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was when the woman’s eyes snapped open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a guttural shriek she lunged up and crashed into him, sending him falling backwards. A gasp tore itself from his throat as his back hit the hard ground and a heavy weight slammed on top of him. Immediately the woman started wailing on him, hands clawing at whatever skin they could reach, and her jaws snapped at his face, snarling and howling like a dog out for blood. Spit and blood splattering across his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t care about that, too preoccupied with trying not to let her </span>
  <em>
    <span>rip his goddam throat out, what the hell?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>All he could do was struggle to hold the violent woman back with his arms, feet desperately shoving against the ground in his mindless panic and startled cries pouring from his lips. The mad woman didn’t give up, choking herself on his arms in her desperate attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look in her eyes was what scared him the most. The look of complete and utter emptiness. The eyes of a dead person, glassy and listless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew, without a doubt, that she wanted to kill him. And she wouldn’t care if she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment Sapnap’s words came back to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Zombie.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get off of him!” In a blur the weight was gone again, shoved away by his neighbour. He scrambled backwards, chest heaving with breaths that were too quick to be healthy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With wide, horrified eyes, he watched Chris wrestle with the rabid woman, pinning her down as much as he possibly could in her frenzied state. “Kid, get inside!” He got out through gritted teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t wait for a second order to shoot to his feet and dart towards the building, heart in his mouth and pulse thumping loudly in his ears. Though his footsteps faltered for a moment at the sound of a pained yell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked over his shoulder to see the woman with her teeth in the older man’s arm, blood spurting from the wound in thick rivulets. He skidded to a stop next to the entrance, ready to slam the door shut and hide from the insanity. He didn’t though, instead anxiously waiting for his neighbour first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of him wanted to run back and help him, but the other part of him-the much more rational, if not cowardly side of him-told him to stay put. He was an adult, he could handle it. Hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a brutal kick he managed to dislodge her, throwing her to the ground, and immediately made a break for it. The woman staggered to her feet again, head snapping around almost grotesquely to land on Chris’ hastily retreating form. She began to run with a shriek, her gait uneven and almost clumsy, but still managing to close the distance between them worryingly fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Chris burst the door he slammed it shut behind him and locked it from the inside. Barely a moment later the woman slammed into the door, beating on it and scratching at the glass with a manic fervency. Blood smeared across the door with every swipe of her hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to barricade the door and call the police.” Chris spoke through pants, catching the attention of the few shocked residents that had congregated together to see what was going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they had managed to get enough things together and barricade the door, there were two more people outside the building, joining the woman in her frenzied assault on the door. No one had been able to contact the police or any other emergency responses. The lines were always occupied, as the automated voice had coldly informed them each time they tried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream stepped back, unable to tear his eyes off of the scene before him, a wave of worry-induced nausea churning at his stomach. The people out there were going crazy. There was something seriously wrong. For a moment, his treacherous mind actually thought that maybe-just maybe-the concept of zombies in real life wasn’t quite as impossible as he’d thought it was. They definitely acted the part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no, that was ridiculous. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be. It would have been all over the news if it was a zombie outbreak. All over everywhere. They would have gotten a warning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid?” He blinked out of his reverie and turned to look at Chris. His neighbour looked concerned for him, weathered face scrunched up and skin pale. “I think you should go patch yourself up. It won’t do us any good if you pass out on us.” He said, sounding gentle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patch up? But he wasn’t-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he actually took the time to check himself over, he realised that the woman had scratched his wrists up pretty bad. Long, deep gashes wept across his skin, trailing blood down his fingers and through the material of his hoodie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t even…” He trailed off, confusion edging his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adrenaline is one hell of a thing.” He chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. His eyes caught on his arm at the movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you? She bit you.” He pointed out. He followed his gaze, grimacing at the sight of a bite mark marring his skin. Again his anxious thoughts whispered that he might be infected. What if that person out there actually was a… a zombie? He knew what happened in the movies and the books. A bite led to death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He answered, bringing him out of his thoughts. “It’s not that bad. It’s not even bleeding anymore.” He turned his attention back onto him again. “You on the other hand… You look like you need some rest. Go home, Clay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” He breathed, pulling away. “I’ll come back later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that he took his leave and disappeared to his apartment, closing and locking the door behind him-if not just for some peace of mind-and immediately went to get his phone. He needed to make some calls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused. First… he should probably take care of his arms, actually. He rummaged through the bathroom cupboards instead, sighing his relief when he found a first-aid kit. Sometimes it paid to be prepared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his hoodie off and threw it into the laundry bin, knowing it was going to be a pain to get the bloodstains out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bracing himself for what he knew was going to be an unpleasant experience, he swabbed a piece of disinfectant-soaked cotton over the scratches on his arm. He hissed, body tensing up from the harsh sting of it. He could never get used to that feeling. Wanting to just get it over with, he quickly wiped away the blood and disinfected all of the small wounds, before wrapping a bandage around the gauze swab pressed to his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a lot harder to do it with one hand, but he managed. He repeated the same treatment on the other arm, glad to see that it wasn’t as bad as the other one. He would live.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked out of the bathroom and grabbed his phone, switching it on. A notification popped up; a message from Sapnap. No, scratch that. A few messages from Sapnap.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[06:32 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So what happened?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[06:46 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dude?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[06:46 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is everything okay?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[06:51 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, man. You’re worrying me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[06:58 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll kick your butt if you don’t answer me right now</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[06:58 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>…Dream?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but smile, touched by his friend’s concern. He typed out a response quickly and fell back into the nearest couch. He was drained from what he assumed was an adrenaline drop, limbs tired and eyes heavy. He could definitely go for a nap right now.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>[06:59 PM]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m fine, Sappy Nappy. You don’t have to worry about me.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In seconds flat the message icon changed to ‘read’ and the other started typing.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[06:59 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay first off, don’t call me that</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[06:59 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Secondly, what happened? Is the driver okay? Are you okay?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[06:59 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What took you so long?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>[07:00 PM]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s… kind of hard to explain? I don’t really know myself. Something weird is happening here. I’ll tell you about it later over a call?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[07:01 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay. I’m gonna hold you to that</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>[07:01 PM]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>See you later, Sappitus.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[07:01 PM]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bye Dweeeeaaaam!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Exiting out of the messages, he went to his contacts instead, scrolling through them until he found the one he was looking for. His finger hovered over the ‘call’ icon, hesitating. Should he call his mom? While he wanted to call her and tell her everything was going on… he knew that she would worry about him being on his own here. Even if he was old enough to look after himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumped as the lights around the house went dark, the faint thrum of electricity that always hovered around disappearing in an instant. He waited, frozen on the couch, for the power to come back on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It never did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the…” He breathed, squinting through the darkness. He pushed himself up and made his way through the apartment, heading for the window. He pulled the curtains open. Immediately light from the slowly setting sun flooded in, lighting the room up a good deal more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flicked his gaze around the world outside, dread forming in the pit of his stomach when he realised that the rest of the city was in the same predicament he was in. The lights </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span> had gone out. The city had gone from bright and thriving to dark and chaotic in a matter of hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was happening?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pressed ‘call’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holding his phone to his ear, he anxiously paced around his apartment, listening to the tell-tale sign of a phone ringing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, pick up… Please, pick up…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t even go to voicemail, concerningly enough. Just cut off with the dull sound of beeping, like the line was cut off. “No, come on.” He groaned, ending the call and trying again. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We’re sorry, all circuits are busy now, please try again later.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He bit down the urge to swear and throw his phone, instead just shakily ending the call again and collapsing back onto the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mom was just talking to someone else on her phone when he called, that was it. That had to be it. It was just a coincidence that it was at the same time that the lights went out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A coincidence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d try again later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening up his messages, he went to type out a quick, ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey mom. Please call me back when you can.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>And sent it. To his chagrin, the message didn’t go through from his side. After trying a testing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Hey’</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Sapnap to see if it would work, he realised that none of his messages were going through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well damn…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsure of what to do, he tipped his head back on the couch and sighed, letting his phone drop onto the cushions next to him. He closed his eyes, trying his best to keep his anxious thoughts from consuming him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was going to be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He woke up about two hours later, drowsy and confused. It was dark in his apartment; the sun having disappeared a while ago. The power still hadn’t come back on. The city was weirdly silent. Occasionally he would hear a scream or a cry coming from the distance, and each time he would startle, but other than that, the sounds that he had grown so used to were gone. No cars driving past, no music coming from other apartments, no people roaming the streets below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The city had never been so quiet before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was unnerving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He switched his phone’s flashlight on and stood up, lazily stretching out his arms and legs. His back and shoulders popped satisfyingly. His neck was protesting heavily because of how he had slept, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should go see what was going on with the other residents. Someone was bound to have information about all of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unlocked his door and stepped outside, shining his light across the hall. The moment he stepped forward, he slipped, something slick and wet beneath his feet. He lowered the light, pressing a hand against the wall for support. Did someone spill something?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stiffened, hand beginning to tremble, when he saw red splattered across the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to go out and check with the others anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had to. If someone was injured and he just left without even trying to help them, he would feel terrible about himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slowly followed the trail of blood down the hall, trying to soothe his nerves. His footsteps all too loud in the otherwise quiet building. It wasn’t a terrifying amount of blood, but it wasn’t exactly just a little bit either. More than enough to be concerned about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused next to the door where the blood stopped, disappearing beneath the closed door. The handle was smeared with red, a strong, sickly-sweet smell of iron and rust hanging heavy in his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was where Ms. Mulligan lived. A dark-humoured old lady that smoked and drank like she was still in her twenties.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence came from her usually loud apartment. No TV blaring noisily about cooking shows and historical events. No croaky voice yelling at no one and everyone all at once. Just… Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing down his unease, he continued further along. His skin prickled, cold dread filling his veins. He’d never thought of his apartment building as creepy before, but now? It was definitely creepy. It felt like he was in a horror movie, and he hated it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guys don’t survive horror movies. It’s the final girl that does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, even the final girl sometimes doesn’t survive anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, this way of thinking was making him even more nervous. This wasn’t a horror movie. He was going to be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight of even more blood told him otherwise though. Thick red handprints and smears decorated the walls, like some kind of gruesome artwork. Someone injured had probably been leaning against it for support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still he saw no one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next apartment door was open, though when he peeked inside, he saw no one. And he felt too uneasy to call out for anyone. Too afraid to break the silence and draw attention to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He faltered at the sound of some kind of wet noise coming quietly from down the hallway. Not unlike a dog messily eating its food, chewing and crunching sloppily. He lifted his phone, squinting through the darkness to see what the sound was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light landed on some figures on the ground and he took a step towards them to see them better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only to find someone crouched over the mauled corpse of one of their neighbours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man had his face at the body’s throat, violently ripping out chunks of flesh, and other things he didn’t want to think about, with his teeth. Red stained his mouth, dripping down his chin and throat. His hands were similarly dipped in dark blood as he dug through the contents of his chest. His nails tore and scratched through the already mangled torso of someone that he could barely even recognise in the state he was in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another body lay further behind them, unmoving and just as bloody and ripped apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man wetly growled, mouth moving, and teeth bared.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Oh my god…’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was eating him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>eating</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nausea washed over him, dizzying and overwhelming. He was going to be sick…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a step back, a strangled noise of horrified disgust escaping his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His blood ran cold in his veins when he realised he’d just alerted the thing. He cursed himself viciously with every fibre of his being, stumbling backwards over his feet, as the figure snapped his head up and locked dead eyes onto him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh god.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was Chris.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The man-monster?-shrieked and immediately threw himself at Dream, scrabbling to his feet and falling into an unnatural, jerky run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream gasped and clumsily turned on his heels, sprinting as fast as he could away from his neighbour. The terrifying screeches that followed him sent his hair on edge and a new wave of fear tingling through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell was happening?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He slipped on the slick blood on the floor for a moment, heart leaping into his throat, but caught his balance and kept going. He ran like he’d never ran before, legs pumping and chest heaving. He thought he might actually cough his heart out of his throat at this rate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He all but crashed into his door, hands shaking heavily and cold sweat dripping down his neck as he searched in the darkness for the handle. He twisted it and barged inside, before throwing himself against the door from the other side, slamming it shut again. He locked it as quickly as humanly possible, and just in time too. A second later came Chris bashing into the door, wailing and screaming and throwing himself against the wood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He backed away from the door, watching, horrified, as it shook on his hinges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this rate it wasn’t going to hold out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dashed around his dark apartment, going into a blind automatic response. He pushed his couch along the room, straining with the effort, until it was firmly pressed up against the door. He hurriedly grabbed whatever he could move and stacked it up until his door was barricaded as much as it possibly could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panting, he took a step back, eyes blown wide and heart racing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What should he do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris couldn’t get into his apartment… but he wouldn’t be able to get out either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Should he call the police?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, the lines were down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit.” He swore loudly, grasping a handful of his hair in his fingers. Something he didn’t do often, but he felt like now was a good time to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because he was trapped in his own apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to swear and scream and panic, because he had nowhere he could go. There was nothing he could do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found himself typing out and sending a message with shaky fingers and tears in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A message he knew would never be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>[9:22 PM]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were right</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream observed the street with a quiet sort of detachment. Trash bounced from one spot to the other in the wind, abandoned and forgotten. When there was no one around to clean up after mankind, the world got surprisingly messy. No, not so surprisingly, actually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While in the beginning it always came as a shock to him to see the disarray the world had fallen into, after what felt like forever of seeing the same destruction, he’d grown used to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How long </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> it been? He had counted in the beginning. He had counted the days that fell into months, and months that fell into a year… At some point he had just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>stopped</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was useless to try and remember what day it was in a life that could kill you at any moment. It wouldn’t change what happened in the past either, so why bother remembering if it was a Tuesday or a Friday?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe that was the pessimist inside of him talking though. That, or the realist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing that mattered in this goddamn wasteland was if he could live to see another day or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it just so happened he was pretty good at surviving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adjusting his bandanna, he walked down the abandoned road. He never liked being back in any cities, not after being in one when this whole thing went down. But it was much quicker to traverse through it than to go around it. And who knows, maybe he would even find some supplies. If everywhere hadn’t been ransacked already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around slowly, footsteps light and eyes keen. Keeping an eye out for any trace of danger. This area appeared to be empty of zombies, which could be a good sign… Or a really bad one. Either the zombies had lost interest and had left to find food elsewhere, or they had been killed off by people. He hoped to god it was the former.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But on a positive note, so far it seemed to be empty of humans too. Zombies, he knew how to handle. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been handling them for a long time now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Humans on the other hand?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The encounters he had had with other people almost always ended badly. They were much harder to predict and, in his eyes, much more dangerous than the shambling corpses that had taken over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d much rather face a horde of zombies than humans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least zombies had the courtesy to make their kills quick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew that there were still good people left. Of course there were, there had to be. It’s just that most of the good people had been killed off early during this mess. And if there </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> many left, he didn’t know where they were. Probably in hiding from the not-so-good ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That he could understand. He probably would have done the same, if not for the fact that nowhere he had been was safe enough to stay. And if it was safe, there were no resources available. So instead he was constantly on the move, always looking for a new place to hide and more supplies to get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A solitary survivor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, he couldn’t settle down. Not when he was still searching for Paradise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He peeked through the broken glass of a shop window, quickly glancing over the inside of the store. The place was already completely looted, the shelves empty and dusty from years of lack of maintenance. The fridges were cleared out too. The only thing that probably wasn’t was the cash register, and that was only because money was useless nowadays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No point in stopping to search.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved on, tucking his thumbs beneath the straps of his backpack as he walked. It was starting to get dark, and he knew he would have to find a place to spend the night. After all, the night was when all the creepy crawlies were out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not really, but it was still safest to sleep through the night instead of travelling in it. It’s much more difficult to see threats in the dark. He’d learnt that the hard way. He wasn’t about to go through that same thing twice. It had already left a big enough mark on him as it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Self-consciously he pulled his white bandanna further up over his nose, the fabric stained with grime and dirt, but doing its job well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shouldn’t be too hard to find a safe place in the city though. There were plenty of abandoned apartments and buildings that he could take refuge in. As much as he detested the thought of being locked up in an apartment </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he knew the benefits of that decision. A small place with minimal places threats could come in from and, hopefully, some supplies left from the previous occupants. Apartment it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A faint growling sound filled the air and he stopped, hand drifting down to the handgun holstered at his hip. He knew that sound. It wasn’t one he heard often anymore, but it was one he recognised anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A car. One that was getting closer quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He vaulted over the remains of a shop’s window, immensely grateful for his gloves. They had protected his hands more times than he could count. A bit worn down and old by now, but still reliable. He crouched down beneath the window and out of view, boots crunching on the pieces of glass littering the floor. He went still, waiting patiently, and prayed that there was nothing undead in the store with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As expected, the car came around a corner barely a minute later, driving slowly down the street. An old, rusted thing that looked like it was on its last legs and spluttered like it was close to dying at any moment. It was still the first working car Dream had seen in weeks though. Making sure he was still hidden in the shadows of the dilapidated shop, he peeked up through the window and watched the vehicle make its way towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two men sat in the front, some kind of red paint smeared across their cheeks and foreheads. Almost like they were going for some kind of uniform thing. A warning bell went off in his head at the sight and his fingers curled around the trigger of his gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even more concerningly, big guns were visible through the rolled down window. Gang members with a car and guns, and who knew what other supplies. Definitely not people he wanted to be confronting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were talking to each other, relaxed and completely at ease. As if they were just driving down to the mall and not through an apocalyptic wasteland. It almost made him envious. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he talked to another person, let alone driven in a car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost every single vehicle had been stolen, ransacked, or broken down during the initial few months. Now he was lucky to see a car with an engine still in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ducked his head further down, breath catching in his throat as they drove past. He could hear the faintest bits of their conversation over the thick grumble of the engine, voices loud and uncaring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-they checked this area yesterday, man. Why do we have to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because the zombies might’ve come here overnight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are no zombies left here. We made sure of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t know that-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their voices died down the further they went, completely unaware that he was there. So they were definitely organized… That took bandits and scavengers out of the equation. Maybe they were part of some kinda gang in the city. He had seen many of them before; groups of people coming together to form a community or a safe place for themselves. Some of them working together to try and live a normal, peaceful life, while others were keen on killing off anyone who got in their way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully these weren’t like that. He’d had enough of people who would kill anyone or anything on sight. Unfortunately for him, they were a lot more common than he would like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in any case, it would be best if he just stayed out of sight until they left. He didn’t exactly want to find out if they were good people or not. Just his luck, they wouldn’t be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrank back when the car came to a stop and one of them climbed out of the car, hefting a rifle in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-told you so! We got a straggler!” He could hear him cheer. The other complained about something, but he couldn’t hear him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reason for stopping became clear quickly enough when a zombie came staggering out of a shop’s doorway. It was an old one, with the side of its face rotted and teeth showing through exposed muscle and skin. A gaping hole sunk into its chest between the tattered remains of a shirt, decayed and torn over time. It snarled and limped towards the man, one of its legs mangled and dragging across the ground. This zombie had clearly been through the hoops already, but still its primal hunger for human flesh drove it forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man lifted his gun and took the walking corpse down with a few well-aimed bullets to the head. The zombie collapsed with one last gurgle; dead for good this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, let’s finish our patrol now. I hope we don’t run into any survivors again. I couldn’t get their fucking blood out of my shirt for like a week after that.” He groaned, getting into the car again. “And anyway, it’s such a waste of bullets.” He slammed the door shut and they drove off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it is. An undeniable sign for him to stay as far away as possible. They clearly weren’t the friendliest of people, and he would be more than happy to avoid them during his journey. He would just have to make sure he kept away from wherever their base was. Anyone with cars and guns like those were not meant to be messed with. One survivor against a whole community of organised people?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He might be reckless, but he wasn’t suicidal. Well, most of the time, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they were finally out of sight, he stood up again and dusted his knees off. He looked around the shop briefly, but didn’t see anything he could take, so he left. The sun was definitely getting low, but he still had some time left. And one good thing about having a gang nearby was the fact that there would definitely be a lack of zombies in the area. One less problem to worry about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But maybe it would be smarter to stick to the smaller streets and alleys for now though. He just had to make sure he didn’t lose his bearings too badly. Thank god for compasses. Now that phones weren’t exactly a thing anymore, that-and the sun-was pretty much the only thing that had been keeping him on track. And even that wasn’t as reliable as he had hoped they would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The compass pointed him in the general direction he needed to go to, and the sun was just a constant reminder that kept him on track throughout the day. He barely had any idea of where he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to go, except for the very vague description of “west”. So west he went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know this city very well, and at this point, every city looked the same to him anyway. Dilapidated. Abandoned. Ransacked. Nothing was maintained, not really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when he saw metal walls raised up across the street in the distance, he knew immediately that they had to have been created by the gang members he had seen earlier. They didn’t exactly look new, but they did look much more well-kept compared to the buildings around him. A mismatch of metal and other materials all patched together to make a protective wall that zombies would struggle to get through. Or over. Noise came from within the walls, people talking and metal clanging. Bustling with activity. The sounds of people </span>
  <em>
    <span>living.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It almost made him want to go towards it, if not just to be around other people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept far away from the wall though, no matter how much he missed having company. The only company he would find there was a bullet to his head. He knew that there had to be people manning the walls and keeping an eye out for stragglers. Zombies and people alike. And no amount of loneliness was going to get him to approach a gang. He made a mental note of how far the boundary seemed to stretch out, a frown settling across his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whoever this gang of people were, they had a big community. If he continued being careful and avoiding the areas that they had taken over, he would take a lot longer to get all the way through the city. While normally that would be fine, he knew that he had started running low on food. He wasn’t sure if his supplies would last a longer journey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either he had to be risky and travel through their territory, or he had to go the long way around and hope he found more supplies along the way. Neither option sounded great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, absently untangling the few knots that he hadn’t bothered to clear out that morning. Whatever. He’d decide what to do tomorrow. Who knew if he was even going to make it past the night?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shout in the distance startled him. He looked back over his shoulder, nerves jumping when he realised that, for some reason, an alarm had been set off. Gunshots cracked through the air, still deafeningly loud even after hearing that sound so often, and he flinched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had someone seen him? No, he was too far away for that. Something was happening </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span> the boundaries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, time to get the hell away before he ran into the cause of the commotion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned into an alleyway, pushing himself into a jog. It would be better to stay out of sight entirely until he got far enough away. He doubted the people would be coming out of their compound, but he preferred to be safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Over there!” A voice shouted, a voice that was far too close for comfort. The sounds of feet thudding against the ground appeared from somewhere behind him, sending his heart leaping into his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Oh, you have got to be kidding me.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> have seen him! There was no way!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But somehow, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>reason, there were people coming his way, and fast. He had to get out of here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took off running down the alleyway, automatically tugging his handgun out of the holster on his side. If it came down to it, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Even if bullets were a somewhat rare commodity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came to a stop, scowling at the tall chain-link fence blocking the path in front of him. He could definitely climb it, but-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Footsteps echoed behind him. He whipped around and lifted his gun, hand steady and expression dark. What was visible of it, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A guy who looked around his age, with dark hair and a bruised face, rounded the corner and came to an abrupt stop at the sight of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wait, don’t shoot!” He pleaded between pants, chest heaving. He lifted his hands up, as if telling him that he wasn’t a threat. That might have been reassuring, if not for the knife that glinted from his grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even from this distance, he could see the panicked look in his eyes. He was scared. The man glanced over his shoulder, visibly getting more and more agitated at the sound of approaching footsteps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, just-just let me go! You don’t have to do this!” He begged. And as if deciding that Dream was the safer choice right now, he stepped forward, hands still in the air. “Turn a blind eye just this once, you’ll never see me again!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> was probably the cause of the commotion back there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands hesitantly lowered, suspicious eyes studying the other survivor cautiously. He was British. That was obvious enough with his accent, easily distinguishable despite his voice being heavy with fatigue and fear. He also looked exhausted, blood and grime staining his clothes, and pale skin bruised. A backpack hung heavily from his one shoulder, while a compound bow tucked over the other. He wore no face paint, however.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not one of the gang members?” He demanded, voice hoarse and a lot croakier than he had thought it would be. From lack of use, he supposed. It wasn’t like he really had anyone to talk to often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy blinked, his own hands also coming down slowly. “I… No. Are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunet’s face morphed into one of relief and he hurriedly stepped towards him, almost tripping over his own feet in his rush. “Oh thank god. You have to help me!” He froze again when Dream lifted his gun again, aiming it firmly at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t move. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> shoot.” He warned him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No please, wait! They’ll kill me if they catch me again!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream’s eyes shifted behind him, stomach flipping unpleasantly at the sound of the shouting and footsteps coming closer. If he didn’t move now, they would catch both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could leave the stranger behind. He could climb the fence and make a run for it and not look back. The gang members wouldn’t even know he was there. That was the best choice. That was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>smart</span>
  </em>
  <span> choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just a goddam pain in the ass that his conscience wouldn’t let him do that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who knew what would happen to the poor guy if they got their hands on him again? He couldn’t let that happen to him, even if he was just some random stranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exhaled explosively and shoved his gun back into its holster. “Dammit, fine. Come on.” He ignored the way the stranger’s admittedly rather pretty eyes lit up, instead focusing on threading his fingers together and crouching down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing what to do despite him not telling him, the brunet placed his foot on his hands. Only now that it was too late to defend himself, he remembered that the stranger had a knife on him. Thankfully, he didn’t turn around and shank him with it. That would have been a pretty bad way to go. Taken by surprise by the very stranger he had tried to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heaved upwards, arms and shoulders straining, and boosted the shorter male up the fence. He waited for him to climb over and drop to the ground before he followed, quickly scrambling up the chain-links. The fence shook and jangled painfully at the added weight, but it held steady. He swung himself over the top, leg almost getting snagged on a broken piece of metal jutting out. He tugged himself free and let himself fall. His ankles complained at the sudden landing and he winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He landed just in time for one of the gang member’s to come sprinting into view in front of him, gun swinging in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Over here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, so now they knew he was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was definitely not going according to plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned and ran, chasing the quickly disappearing form of the stranger. He didn’t wait for Dream to catch up, just ran through the twisting maze of alleyways like a cat running from dogs. If it weren’t for his long legs and endurance, he might have even lost him entirely. As it is he struggled to keep up with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them burst out onto an old street, the voices fading, but a new, more threatening sound starting up. A car. No, scratch that. It sounded like multiple cars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were going to try and hunt them down in cars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit.” The stranger swore, frantically looking around. ‘Shit’ was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way.” He grabbed onto his wrist and yanked him forward, running towards a rundown apartment building. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in years, and that he could believe. With the bricks a faded orange and whole chunks of the building collapsed, it looked like the last place anyone would want to go into. Which was exactly why they might be safe there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The front doors were barricaded from the inside, but that didn’t matter. He let go of the other guy and climbed the fire escape, the metal rusty and creaky beneath his feet, but more than stable enough. He ran up the stairs as quickly as he could without tripping, only stopping when he was a good few floors up. He gulped down air like he was drowning, lungs burning from the mad dash to safety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The window leading into the apartment was barricaded by some wooden planks from the inside, but that wasn’t a problem. Not for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay back.” He warned the stranger as he unhooked his axe from his belt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been lucky to get the fire axe a few months back, as well as a holster for it. Carrying the weapon would have been difficult without it. It was a godsend in this hellscape of a world. He swung the axe down at the boards, narrowing his eyes when pieces of wood went flying about, splintering beneath his blow. He swung again and again, breaking through the barricade. And all the while, the sounds of the cars were coming closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the hole was big enough, he took a step back and kicked the rest of it in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get in.” He panted, glancing over at his temporary companion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man stared at him, face dirty and blood crusted across his skin, but his expression twisted. “Why must I get in first? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> get in. There could be something dangerous in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?” He couldn’t help but snap, turning on his heels to fix him with a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You’re the one with the axe and the gun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god. Fine.” He climbed through the window, struggling to see in the darkness for a few moments. His eyes adjusted quickly enough though, and he made his way around the small living room. Everything was coated with a thick layer of dust and an old, musty smell hung in the air. He scanned through the bedroom and the bathroom, then the kitchen. And upon finding nothing dangerous, he called the stranger in. “It’s clear in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger climbed into the apartment cautiously, squinting in the darkness. He looked tense, as if he expected to be attacked the moment he came inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holstered his axe again and went to move the heavy bookshelf next to the now open window. He pushed it into place, scraping the floor unpleasantly and arms burning. Barricading the window and shutting out the only source of light left. Hopefully that would keep the gang off their trail for a bit. At least for the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could barely see now, a lack of lights-both natural and artificial-leaving the apartment more than a little bit dark. But that didn’t matter. They were safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a relieved sigh, he turned around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only to find the cold metal of a blade pressed to his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth went dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wide, surprised green eyes met guarded chocolate ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, now that we’re safe, I have a few questions for you.” The stranger said coolly, accent clear and smooth now that he had caught his breath properly. “You better answer them truthfully, or you’ll be dead before the night is over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>…Fuck.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A peace offering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi guys! I'm so sorry this update took so long to get out. My life's been a bit hectic lately, but I'm working on updating more frequently again now! </p><p>As always, I hope you enjoy ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream swallowed. Tried to, at least. His throat was parched, to the point where his fingers twitched at his side, as if wanting to reach out for his water bottle. It was kind of understandable though.</p><p>It wasn’t every day someone threatened you at knifepoint.</p><p>“If you reach for your gun, if you so much as <em>move</em> wrong, I’ll kill you. Understand?” The man demanded, voice steady and accent all the more prominent in their close proximity. No trace of that fearful, panicked guy he had met in the alley remaining. Just the hardened face of a survivor who would do anything to survive another day.</p><p>“I understand.” He croaked out in response, voice quiet. Raspy even. Lack of use left his throat hoarse every time he spoke out loud nowadays.</p><p>“Mask down.” He ordered.</p><p>Dream tensed further, his unease unfolding over him even more. He didn’t exactly <em>want</em> to do that. He just didn’t show people his face, and he hadn’t done so in a long time. But when the stranger pointedly flicked his gaze down and then up again, he knew he would accept no arguments.</p><p>Carefully he raised an arm, keeping his hand open and in clear view. He moved slowly and deliberately, conscious not to come off as a threat. With a slight tremor in his fingers, he pulled down his last line of defence.</p><p>The stained white bandanna fell free around his neck, exposing the bottom half of his face to the stranger before him. He ignored the subtle widening of his eyes in surprise, the silence stretching out for longer than he was comfortable with.</p><p>He kept his eyes on the stranger despite his discomfort, shadows casting dark shapes across his face and making his bruises seem even darker than they already were. Even with a lack of light, he could read his expression just fine. The sharp glint in his eyes, the tense set of his jaw, the unwavering steadiness of the hand holding the knife.</p><p>This was someone who had killed before and would kill again.</p><p>Dream was just the unfortunate soul caught in his grasp.</p><p>Godammit, he hated everything right now.</p><p>Why did everything and everyone in this dumb world want to kill him? It was like the whole universe had decided to play a cruel prank on him. Zombies weren’t good enough. No, no, of course they weren’t. Instead, his demise would be caused by a stranger with a pretty face and terrifying eyes.</p><p>His life was a joke, and he was the goddam punchline.</p><p>“What was your plan?”</p><p>It took him a moment longer than he’d like to admit for him to realise the stranger was talking again, and even longer for him to understand <em>what</em> he was asking.</p><p>“I’m sorry?” He blinked rapidly, confusion racing through him alongside the adrenaline still vibrating in his body, making him jumpy and itching to move. He didn’t move even an inch despite it, knowing it would probably end in him gutted like a fish.</p><p>The stranger wrinkled his nose, as if annoyed by his confusion. “Stop playing dumb with me. What were you going to do with me?”</p><p>“Huh?” He didn’t know if he should feel offended at the tone of his voice or not, but decided not to think about it too much right now. More pressing matters to deal with. “I’m not playing dumb. I don’t-I wasn’t going to do anything to you. I didn’t have a plan either-” He choked on his words when the knife pressed deeper into his skin, threatening to draw blood if he so much as took little more than a breath.</p><p>“Bullshit. Why did you help me? Tell me the truth <em>right now</em>.” The stranger snarled, baring his teeth in a way that reminded him way too much of a zombie. He leaned in closer, seemingly not noticing how close the knife was to splitting him open. He fought the urge to swallow, knowing it wouldn’t help his dry throat anyway.</p><p>There was a strange sort of intensity about the stranger, one that he was sure would have remained hovering over him like a cloud even if he didn’t have a knife to his neck. When he spoke it felt like the stranger was dissecting every single word that left his mouth, scrutinizing and studying him like a professional interrogator.</p><p>It made him choose his next words carefully.</p><p>He didn’t know what he wanted to <em>hear</em> though. He could lie, say what he thought he wanted, or try to talk his way out of this. It wasn’t like he could offer him anything in return for his life; bribery only worked if you had something to give. He barely had enough to keep himself alive at this point.</p><p>But even if he wanted to lie, he didn’t think he could. Not when he had a feeling the stranger wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he so much as said a single thing wrong. He might as well tell the truth and hope he didn’t kill him where he stood.</p><p>“Because you were in trouble.” He murmured on an exhale. A confession more than an answer. “You needed help so, I… I helped.”</p><p>There was silence for a while, before something shifted through the near impenetrable wall of defence held high around the stranger. Something unidentifiable flashing across his face for the barest of moments. So quick he almost thought he’d imagined.</p><p>Then he scoffed haughtily, the sound loud and explosive in the silence around them.</p><p>“What?” Dream asked, taken aback by his response.</p><p>The stranger smiled, with too many teeth and sharp edges that made him look even more dangerous than he already was. An eery thing that made his skin crawl. “You don’t need to pretend with me.” He drawled knowingly. “What do you want?”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“People don’t just help each other out of the goodness of their hearts.” The man shook his head adamantly, “Not anymore. So what do you want from me?”</p><p>“Wha-<em>nothing</em>.” He denied, bristling. He sounded so sure of himself, so <em>condescendingly </em>sure, and it rubbed him the wrong way.</p><p>“Oh, come on.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> come on!” He snapped finally. “I helped you because I wanted to! There’s literally no other reason!” It took him a moment to remember that he was still being held at knife point, and that he <em>really</em> shouldn’t get snippy with the man holding the knife. But before he could amend himself, the stranger recoiled back, surprise flitting across his expression.</p><p>The knife left his throat.</p><p>Cold air pressed against his neck, soothing the line indented in his skin. He found himself able to breathe freely for a moment without worry of being cut open immediately, though he didn’t take his eyes off of the stranger.</p><p>He knew that he should move. He <em>knew</em> that if he wanted to get out of here alive, now would be the best chance he had. He could get his gun out. Tackle him while his guard was down and overpower him. Flee from the apartment before he could give chase. <em>Anything.</em></p><p>But he found that he couldn’t move.</p><p>Maybe because, despite the darkness plunged over them, he could see something different in the way the stranger held himself. The slightest change, but one that he was aware of immediately without even realising it. He looked… vulnerable. Scared, almost. His defences lowered - probably without him even realising it. If the widening of his eyes and the sudden tension in the line of his shoulders were anything to go by, he’d taken him by surprise.</p><p>Appraising eyes roved over him, cautious and wary still, but definitively less threatening.</p><p>“You’re… not lying?” Came his hesitant reply, his doubt wavering his voice.</p><p>“The hell would I be lying about?” He huffed back, reaching a hand up to rub his neck, soothing the ghost touch of a knife that was no longer there.</p><p>Teeth bared at him again, but the stranger didn’t move otherwise, finding the small movement acceptable. “I don’t know, you tell me. You could’ve been plotting to kidnap me and take me to another gang. Or you could’ve been a scavenger and killed me for my loot.”</p><p>“I don’t care about your loot.” He denied, despite the tiny part of his mind that did linger on the thought treacherously. But no. No matter how low on supplies he was running, there was no way he would steal from someone else. Especially not if the person was innocent. He could never bring himself to do such a thing. “You were running from those gang members and I chose to help a person in need. I don’t have any ulterior motives or shit.” When he didn’t make a move to speak, he continued, “Look, this is as good a place as any to stay the night. In the morning I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to see me again. We don’t have to like each other. We don’t even have to trust each other, but at least let’s not try and kill each other. Does that sound okay?”</p><p>The stranger was silent for a while after that, though his eyes never left him. Constantly watching, assessing, <em>deciding</em>.</p><p>Dream let him. He was a patient guy, after all. Even if he hadn’t already been before, he was sure that he would’ve had to become so if he ever wanted to survive in this wasteland. Sometimes patience was the only thing that kept you from getting mauled by the undead. Waiting for and figuring out the right opportunity to act was one thing he found he’d gotten good at.</p><p>So he waited, observing the stranger right back. Waiting for him to make his move. Whether it be by lowering his knife, or by attacking, he was prepared either way.</p><p>Hopefully.</p><p>Boldly he kept eye contact with the stranger, refusing to blink even when his eyes started stinging. He didn’t want to lose their unspoken staring contest, and neither did the other it seemed. Neither wanted to lose face. The air felt thick and charged around him, clogging his throat up and making his skin tingle like static for a reason he didn’t quite understand.</p><p>But eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the stranger blinked. He dropped his arm to his side, letting out a sharp exhale that broke the silence.</p><p>“Fine. I believe you.” He conceded, followed by a harsh mutter under his breath that he just barely managed to catch, <em>“I probably shouldn’t though...” </em></p><p>“Well that’s great to hear.” He said shortly, words nothing short of soaked in sarcasm. He moved past him and to the couch, pretending not to see the annoyed look sent his way, nor the way he tensed when he got close. “You make it a habit to threaten the people that save you?” He drawled, still ignoring the burning gaze on his retreating back. If glares could kill, he was sure he’d be wandering the streets as a zombie by now.</p><p>“No, I don’t. Because I don’t need people to save me.” The stranger – he really needed to learn his name at this point – snapped back.</p><p>“Oh yeah? Then what was that back there?” He gestured his head to the barricaded window pointedly, before flopping down on the couch. His throat seized and he found himself struggling not to cough violently at the storm of dust that flew up around him. But even as his eyes watered and his lungs refused to work with the particles catching in his mouth, he <em>refused</em> to so much as make a single noise of discomfort. He absolutely refused to let the stranger see him like that, especially after trying so hard to keep his composure throughout their… interaction.</p><p>“That was me running into you. That’s all.”</p><p>“Right.” He deadpanned, for once grateful for the scratchiness of his voice, keeping him from sounding affected by the dust still tickling at his nose annoyingly.</p><p>The stranger prowled around the couch, visibly keeping a wide berth from him, and took a seat on the armchair opposite him. Even though he sat down gently, the furniture still blew up dust around him, making him recoil and cough into his fist.</p><p>Two-Zero for Dream.</p><p>He sent Dream a glare when a bark of harsh laughter passed from his lips, unable to keep it back. It almost caught in his throat, the sound weirdly foreign in his throat and unfamiliar to his ears. God, when was the last time he had properly laughed?</p><p>Ignoring the scalding look, he pulled his bottle from his pack, taking this moment of respite to take a much needed drink of water. He had another two in his backpack, but both of them were sucked dry of any liquid, and his last one was already half empty. He knew he would have to either find a stream he dubbed safe enough to refill them with, or he would have to find <em>somewhere</em> in this city that still had running water. Either way, if he used the rest of it sparingly – even more than he already was – then it might last him a few days.</p><p>God, he was running too low on supplies. It’s been a while since he had to be so careful about his rations.</p><p>“What’s your name?” The question brought him out of his musing and he silently put his bottle back in his bag, despite his mouth begging for more water.</p><p>“What’s yours?” He countered, quirking a brow when the other scowled.</p><p>“You’re so difficult. You know that, right?”</p><p>“You’re the one that threatened me.”</p><p>“Jesus-Are you really gonna hold that over me?” He asked incredulously. “It would’ve been dumb of me to just assume you were safe.”</p><p>He decidedly looked away at that, choosing not to respond. Because honestly, that was… Well, it was exactly what Dream had done. He’d seen someone needing help and just decided he was safe and helped him. The best idea he’d ever had? No, of course not. But at least he hadn’t held him at knifepoint.</p><p>“…George.”</p><p>His eyes flickered back to the stranger, a note of curiosity warming through his eyes. Seeing the look, the brunet shrank back defensively, fingers curling around the strap of his own backpack.</p><p>“My name is George.” He clarified directly.</p><p>He blinked a few times, faintly surprised that he had actually given his name. He saw it for what it was, though. It wasn’t an apology, nor an invitation for friendship. Just an olive branch of sorts. Not quite a sign of trust, but a peace offering. As much of one as either were willing to give anyway.</p><p>He could appreciate that.</p><p>“I go by Dream.” He offered quietly in return.</p><p>“Dream.” The stranger, George, rolled his name in his mouth experimentally, completely unaware of the way it sent a shiver run down his spine. “Weird name, but okay. What is it with people and using codenames nowadays?” He mused absently.</p><p>He would have bristled, if not for the tugging interest that accompanied his words.</p><p>“You know other people that use code names too?” He couldn’t help but ask, head cocking to the side.</p><p>George looked at him with that cold, studious gaze of his. Like he was peering right into his soul and taking him apart. “A few. All for different reasons.” He finally decided, dropping his gaze to instead focus on his hands, fingers picking at his nails.</p><p>“Right.” He eventually said, not sure how else to respond to that. He instead busied himself with looking through his bag, taking the moment of peace to take stock of everything he had left. A nightly ritual of his to make sure he had enough to survive.</p><p>The measly contents of his pack nearly made him grimace, but he refrained from doing so. He didn’t need George seeing his reactions. He had a few packets of food and even fewer cans nestled in the worn fabric. Not enough to last more than a week, unfortunately. Unless he was willing to skip eating every second day. And while that was a feasible option, it wasn’t exactly one he liked. He struggled to keep his bodyweight up as it is. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he became too weak to even defend himself. Or, god forbid, too weak to outrun a zombie. So he had to find food somewhere on the way out of the city or he was screwed</p><p>The thought drained him more than he thought it would. With the adrenaline gone and reality setting in, as it always did eventually, he realised just how <em>tired</em> he was. Physically and otherwise.</p><p>He wondered absently if maybe letting the stranger – George, he reminded himself – kill him would have been the better option. It sure as hell would have been less stressful at this point.</p><p>But no, there’s no point in dwelling on thoughts like that. He had to push through his doubts and weaknesses, even when he felt them clawing at him insidiously. Tearing at his bleeding heart. Ebbing away at his motivation and slowly draining him of his will to survive.</p><p>He blinked a few times, catching himself staring into space.</p><p>He had a goal, and no one was going to stop him from completing it. Even himself.</p><p>Sharp eyes scanned over the other items, taking them in silently. A few magazines of extra ammo, the remains of his first aid kit, two empty bottles, and other miscellaneous objects he didn’t have the energy to paw through thoroughly. He shifted his gaze up instead, watching curiously as George did the same as he had been doing, sifting through his backpack, and going through his belongings.</p><p>But, unlike Dream, he looked surprised about the items he tugged from the depths of the pack. Almost like he didn’t <em>know</em> what was inside.</p><p>“That’s not yours, is it?” It took him a moment to realise he was voicing his thoughts instead of keeping it to himself. He hid his embarrassment behind a mask of indifference when the brunet lifted his head to look at him. A defensive glint flickered through his eyes, face hardening. Perhaps without him even knowing it.</p><p>“No, it’s not.” He agreed, giving him a look. And when he didn’t say anything, he continued in what sounded like a bored drawl, silently daring him to say something about it.  “I grabbed it from those assholes during my <em>daring </em>escape.”</p><p>He couldn’t help it; his lips twitched up into a smile. “Daring, huh?” And stealing from violent gangs? Oh yeah, he could get behind that. “Well, fair enough. From what I’ve seen, they kinda deserve that.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>They went quiet again. A calm, easy thing that Dream took solace in. He’d spent a long time by himself, barely speaking because there was never a need to, so he had become used to it. Enjoyed it, even. Silence used to be a thing that scared him, back before life was a living nightmare. He craved company, longed to have people to talk to, thrived in talking with friends. Isolation wasn’t a fear of his, but he would absolutely choose having someone around rather than being alone. Living alone for the first time in his life, after being in a house filled with his family, his so many siblings, it took a toll on him. But it also made what followed easier.</p><p>Living for months on end by himself after things went down, only interacting with other people on the uncommon occasion when someone needed help, or when he had to fight for his life, he’d been forced to get used to it. It was difficult in the beginning. Of course it was. That was why he had found himself drifting to groups in the beginning, staying with people who stuck together to survive the sudden change. He’d been happy staying with that group. More people meant more safety after all, right?</p><p>Good things don’t last in this world though. And more people also meant more enemies to face when they inevitably turned. Turned into zombies, or turned against each other, it didn’t really make a difference.</p><p>Either way, a friend out for your blood was never something you wanted to face.</p><p>So yes, being a solitary survivor was the best choice for him. Even if being one meant he was forced to get used to being alone constantly. Or else he was already dead. Loneliness can drive people to do crazy things.</p><p>This wasn’t the time for him to snap.</p><p>He realised with a start that he was staring into the distance again, and roughly yanked himself back into reality. He really had to stop doing that, especially around a guy that he didn’t trust farther than he could throw. He couldn’t let his guard down, even if he was bone tired with an exhaustion that went further than being simply physical.</p><p>“So why exactly <em>were</em> you running from them?” He asked, decidedly ignoring his thoughts.</p><p>George eyed him for a moment, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. A nervous habit of his maybe? “They kidnapped me.” He eventually said, deeming his question suitable enough to deign with an answer.</p><p>“Hmm,” He hummed thoughtfully, recalling the conversation he’d overheard earlier. “They didn’t look like the kind of people to take prisoners.”</p><p>“They’re not.” He agreed darkly, brows creasing with his distaste. The movement pulled at the bruising along his face, so much darker in shadows of the unlit apartment. But his distaste wasn’t for him and he knew it. Rather for the people that had kidnapped him.</p><p>“So you’re the exception?”</p><p>“I guess.” He shrugged, taking his time before answering. Like he had to carefully choose the words that left his mouth. “They grabbed me from a few cities down and brought me back here.”</p><p>He blinked, faintly surprised by that piece of news. For a gang that took no prisoners and seemed confined to just the one city, it was certainly… <em>interesting</em> to hear that they went out of their boundaries and travelled all the way back to bring him here.</p><p>But why would they do that? He doubted it was just a random occurrence and George had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. This sounded more specific. More directed. The brunet had probably been targeted. But why? And for what?</p><p>He eyed him curiously, taking in his appearance for what felt like the hundredth time. He didn’t look like that much, not with his slim build and his pale skin, but he certainly was a fighter from what he’s seen. A survivor. Appearances aren’t always what they seem, after all.</p><p>“Just stop already.” George huffed, rolling his eyes.</p><p>He eyed him. “Stop what?”</p><p>“You’re thinking too loud. Stop, you might hurt yourself.”</p><p>“Wow.” He laughed, a wheezing noise that didn’t sound unlike choking. “And I thought <em>I</em> was bad at socialising. You talk to your friends like that?”</p><p>“Some of them.” To his credit, he did look somewhat amused by his reaction instead of annoyed. “And before you ask,” He gave him a look, “because I know you will.” Dream held his hands up in mock surrender. “They kidnapped me because I’m part of another gang.”</p><p>He went still, brows shooting up.</p><p>“Wait, <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t really call us ‘rival gangs’, because that would imply we’re at war.” He mused, continuing like he didn’t notice his sharp outburst. “But I guess to them maybe it would seem like-”</p><p>“Hang on, hang on!” He interrupted his thought process, catching his eyes. “You’re telling me that I got myself into the middle of a gang war?” He demanded.</p><p>George blinked, composed as always. “Well no.” He let out a breath. Only to inhale sharply again at what followed. “Not a gang <em>war</em>, weren’t you listening? Just more of a… gang disagreement.” He moved to explain, “We work outside of each other’s boundaries, but I suppose tension <em>has</em> been rising. My guess is that they took me to try and negotiate a deal between our gangs. Or maybe blackmail them. They did seem like the type, after all. But whatever the deal is, I need to get back. They’re definitely going to be worried about me-”</p><p>“Okay, I get it.” He reached his hands up to massage his temples, ignoring the oncoming headache.</p><p>Joke. Punchline.</p><p>A goddam cosmic prank.</p><p>He just <em>had</em> to save the one person that would drag him into more trouble. Because that was just his absolutely terrible luck.</p><p>Whatever. Whatever, he was just going to leave tomorrow morning anyway. He would never see him again and, hopefully, he wouldn’t run into any gang members on the way out. From either side.</p><p>“So are you going to take me back to those people now that you know the truth?”</p><p>He looked up, the question taking him by surprise. Sharp, cunning eyes met his. Not challenging like they usually were, but more… Interested. Waiting to see his answer in the way a cat waits for a mouse to run away.</p><p>“No, of course not.” He sighed. “That was never an option.” Even if he wanted to, he doubted he could ever willingly subject someone to whatever torment George had been fated to face in that place. “It just complicates things.” That was an understatement, to say the least. After all, for all he knew he could have a target on his back now. Getting involved in gang disagreements was never a smart idea. And especially not with a gang as big as this one. “It doesn’t matter. In the morning I’m leaving, and none of this will matter anyway.”</p><p>Hopefully.</p><p>A curious look flashed across George’s face. “You keep saying you’re leaving. Where are you headed to?” He asked, repacking his bag slowly. “Or are you just a drifter?”</p><p>He hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be smart to tell the stranger about his plans. He didn’t look like he wanted to kill him anymore, but it was always a possibility. And one that he was well aware of. On the other hand, he had told Dream somewhat about himself. It was only fair if he did the same.</p><p>“Paradise.” He answered on an exhale. “I’m trying to find Paradise.”</p><p>George’s face shifted almost imperceptibly, recognition lighting his gaze up.</p><p>So he knew what he was talking about then. He knew the stories, just as Dream did. And it was where he was heading to.</p><p>To the supposed ‘Paradise’. A community created to help rebuild mankind after the collapse. A place where you could live in safety and in peace. A safe haven for all who wished to enter. The rumours said it was built in some kind of military base. Everyone within the walls were protected from the zombies.</p><p>It was where his family was. At least where they <em>should</em> be. They said they would be going there. And call him dumb for clinging onto the hope that they were all still alive and all right, but something had to keep him going. They were at Paradise, so Paradise was where he was heading to.</p><p>He didn’t know if he was just chasing a ghost tale at this point, going on a wild goose chase after people that might not even be alive anymore. But he had to try. He’d come this far, travelled all the way from his home in his journey. He couldn’t give up now. He <em>wouldn’t.</em></p><p>“Paradise…” The brunet mused, pausing his ministrations thoughtfully. “From what I’ve heard, it’s not far from our own base.”</p><p>“It is?” He asked, surprise catching at his voice.</p><p>“Yeah. But I don’t know where exactly. I’ve never needed to go there.” He said, matter-of-fact.</p><p>“Well isn’t that coincidental.” He huffed, somewhat bitterly. He’d spent months searching, travelling, <em>hunting</em> down the stories and the rumours, and this random stranger that he just happened to save knew the general area Paradise was in.</p><p>“I guess so.”</p><p>Silence fell over them again, this one more awkward, a little more tense than it had been before. Not looking at each other, but neither doing anything other than staring into the old, carpeted floor of the lounge. The place was dusty and the air stale, the smell overbearingly musty at times. But it was bearable. After all, few things can rival the stench of a walking corpse. Especially an old one.</p><p>Unwilling to sit in the silence for much longer, he stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Fumbling his way through the unfamiliar apartment in the darkness was no easy feat, but he managed to do so with minimal injuries to his shins. So that’s a plus.</p><p>Squinting through the shadows, he checked the front door, jiggling the handle. Locked. He probably didn’t have to barricade it then. In case there were any zombies still roaming around the abandoned building in search of a meal.</p><p>He continued on, finding the completely undisturbed main bedroom, then continued on to what looked like a guest room, with a small desk and a single bed. Both objects covered in a fine sheen of dust. He made his way back to George, stopping in the doorway. The brunet looked up when he entered the room.</p><p>“I’m going to sleep now. Leave. Stay. I don’t really care what you do. Just don’t rob me in my sleep. I do still have a gun.” He said, warningly lifting his jacket up to show off said object. Even in the darkness, the shape was still easily made out.</p><p>George rolled his eyes – he guessed he did at least, he couldn’t really see all that well – and drawled back, “I’ll try.”</p><p>“Since you tried to kill me, the main bedroom is mine.” He pointedly ignored the sarcastic response, and instead turned to leave for his self-appointed room.</p><p>George didn’t bid him a goodnight, and he didn’t expect him to. Instead silence followed his retreating back.</p><p>He didn’t call a goodnight back either.</p><p>He slipped into the room and closed the door, thankfully finding a key jutting out of the handle. A rusted thing that squealed when it turned, but didn’t break in his hold. The door locked with a quiet click, and he just hoped it would be able to open again in the morning. If not… Well, that wouldn’t be the end of the world. There was a boarded up window he could try to climb out if it did. Or if that failed, he could always kick the door down. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to do it.</p><p>He chucked his backpack on the bed, then made his way around the room, slowly searching the cupboards and the bedside tables. Surprisingly enough, he found a few things he could use. Three new half-full lighters, a box of matches, even a pack of cigarettes that he pocketed absently. He wasn’t a smoker, though the people who had lived here clearly were. But who knew when they would come in handy.</p><p>Aside from that, he snatched a few items of clothing left from the previous owner, just judging by eye and hoping that they would fit him, a pack of sealed batteries, and a few other items that caught his eyes. He knew to be careful with his pickings, only taking things that he really needed and knew could carry. And if that included a small notepad and a wad of pens… well, who needed to know?</p><p>He checked the door one more time, making sure again that it was locked. He didn’t want his impromptu roommate coming into the room in the middle of the night. He was a light sleeper and probably would wake up if he <em>did</em>, but he just had to make sure. His pack was, essentially, all he had. If he lost it, he didn’t know how long he would make it out there.</p><p>Tugging his bandanna back up over his nose, he made quick work of shaking away majority of the dust from the bed. It stung his eyes, but he was saved from the worst of it by the protective material over his face.</p><p>He unhooked his axe and placed it carefully on the bedside table. Out of the way, but still within reach should he need it during the night.</p><p>He all but collapsed onto the mattress when he was done, the springs creaking loudly beneath his sudden weight. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the fact that everything was old and tattered, worn through from years of disuse. He wasn’t picky enough to reject sleeping in a bed, even if it was somewhat dusty still and smelt stale.</p><p>He could barely remember the last time he had slept on an actual bed, one with sheets and blankets and <em>pillows</em>.</p><p>God, pillows… He missed pillows.</p><p>It wasn’t the same using his backpack or, on a warm night, his jacket as a pillow. He’d gotten used to it after spending so many nights sleeping on the floor and in rough places, but it just wasn’t the same. He debated taking one of the pillows with him in the morning, but eventually decided against it. Too big to fit in his pack, and certainly not something he was willing to carry around by hand.</p><p>He’d just have to make do with his one night in heaven.</p><p>He kicked his boots off, letting the scuffed, worn things drop to the floor. His gloves and bandanna followed, though those he tucked safely into the confines of his bag. He tugged the blanket over his shoulders, sinking into the bed.</p><p>
  <em>He missed sleeping in a bed.</em>
</p><p>He sighed. A peaceful, content little sound, and his eyes slid closed. Exhaustion weighing heavily at him, he found himself becoming sleepy a lot quicker than he thought he would.</p><p>With his bag held close to his chest and his head buried in a borrowed pillow, he let himself drift off.</p><p>-</p><p>Dream eyed the contents of the cupboard, worry churning his stomach around. He felt nauseous… But he didn’t know if from his fear or from hunger.</p><p>He hadn’t eaten that day yet, but he didn’t know if he could bring himself to take more from his already pathetic, dwindling amount of supplies than he already had. He’d tried to ration his food, using things sparingly and only eating when he had to. But still, little over a week into his isolation and he was already running out.</p><p>Fast.</p><p>He sighed and stood up, choosing to forgo eating, despite his stomach voicing its complaints with a growl. He could skip food for one day, if it meant he had more for another day.</p><p>A nasty cry pierced through the air, breaking the silence of his apartment. A week ago he might have shivered violently, or even felt sick at the eery sound. But after days of hearing it, of hearing <em>them</em>, he was used to it. As horrible a thought as it was.</p><p>He was used to hearing those things roaming the building, screeching, and yowling demonically at random intervals.</p><p>He remembered the first time he’d been woken up by one of them. He’d jolted up in bed at the sound of hoarse screaming, a sound that didn’t sound even remotely human. And roused by the otherworldly cry, the rest of the creatures holed up in the building had shrieked and howled as well. Like dogs responding to each other, though he knew that they weren’t intelligent enough to communicate. Just an uncanny, horrifying instinctual response.</p><p>He hadn’t slept at all the rest of the night. Instead he sat shivering in his bed, tears in unseeing eyes and heart in his stomach.</p><p>That was probably the moment he really realised just how <em>screwed</em> he was.</p><p>Trapped in an apartment building with god knows how many zombies lurking about. No way out, no weapons he could use, and a rapidly dwindling food supply. That was the first time he’d almost lost hope. The first, but certainly not the last.</p><p>He filled a glass with water from the tap, grateful to see that the water supply hadn’t been cut off just yet. It was only a matter of time before it did though, and he didn’t want to be around when it did. He downed the liquid, hoping to somewhat appease his body as a replacement for food.</p><p>He placed it down quietly and padded into the lounge, socked feet barely making a single sound against the floor. He knew that, rationally, the creatures wouldn’t be able to get through the barrier he’d put up behind his door, but he still couldn’t keep from being as silent as possible to keep from alerting them. They seemed to have forgotten about him hiding in his apartment after the first day, instead moving on to easier targets. He didn’t want to push his luck though.</p><p>He didn’t know how many of them were out there, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Not when it meant knowing how many of his neighbours had died and been brought back to stalk the halls as undead monsters. For all he knew, he was the last living person in the entire apartment building.</p><p>He really hoped that wasn’t the case.</p><p>All he knew was that it sounded like there were dozens of the creatures ambling about.</p><p>With a slow exhale, he moved to sit by the window, letting the warm sun gently rest over him. The only source of light he had left, beside the few torches and the battery operated lamp that he’d been using when he needed to at night. The power had never come back on again, and the signal was still down the last he checked.</p><p>His phone lay abandoned next to his bed, dead after the first few days despite his best efforts to keep it alive. He’d still watched the screen when it had been alive, waiting, hoping, <em>praying</em> that a message would come through. That a sign would come. That help would come.</p><p>The little faith he had left had wilted to nothing in his chest when he watched the screen go dark before his very eyes, giving one last, final vibration in his hands. Giving out after his valiant effort to keep it going. And with it, his hope.</p><p>He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d cried.</p><p>He tiredly eyed the street below, taking in the one or two corpses staggering down the road. It was a lot emptier the more the days stretched on, but he wasn’t naïve enough to assume that it meant they were gone.</p><p>It was quiet currently. No groaning, or screaming, or growling. Just… Silence. He never thought he’d ever hear the city go silent, but here he was. No cars driving around. No people chatting. No nothing. He’d never really realised how used to the subtle hum of noise he’d gotten over time. How reliant, until it was gone entirely.</p><p>Now he ached to hear it again.</p><p>He didn’t know how long he would be holed up in his apartment. He’d been holding out in hope that maybe, <em>maybe</em> someone would come for him. His family. Friends. Even the goddam military, coming to take care of the zombie problem.</p><p>But no one came.</p><p>No one ever came.</p><p>He wanted to hope that people were alive out there, that there were people looking for him, but… With every passing day, he felt that hope die a little more.</p><p>For all he knew, he would end up dying in his apartment of starvation.</p><p>For all he knew, everyone he’d ever known could be dead already.</p><p>For all he knew, he’d be better off giving up.</p><p>He tugged himself from his thoughts by pushing his nails into the meat of his palms until they stung. He eyed the small crescent shapes absently, only noticing that he was crying when something cold and wet dropped onto his palm. He wiped his hands against his eyes, smearing the tears across his face.</p><p>A faint crackle of static caught his attention.</p><p>He looked up, trying to figure out where the faint noise was coming from. It sounded like a TV, or a radio crackling, but the electricity went out long ago. So what-</p><p>
  <em>“…lay? …hea… can… me?”</em>
</p><p>His eyes went wide.</p><p>He shot to his feet, scrambling across the room as quick as he physically could. He nearly slipped a few times, ended up slamming his foot into his coffee table, but didn’t stop for even a second. He ripped the cupboard doors open, violently tearing through the contents of it. Desperately searching for the source of the faint sounds.</p><p>
  <em>“…Cla…”</em>
</p><p>With trembling hands, he picked out a small walkie-talkie. A little thing that he’d gotten from his dad for his birthday years ago, and that he’d forgotten he even had at this point.</p><p>
  <em>“Clay? Can you hear me, son?”</em>
</p><p>He sobbed out loud at the sound of the voice, pressing a hand to his mouth.</p><p>It was his dad.</p><p>
  <em>It was his dad!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Are you there, Clay?”</em>
</p><p>He was there, he was <em>talking</em> to him.</p><p>He shakily held down a button, sniffing in an effort to compose himself.</p><p>“Dad?” He croaked, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. “I’m here. I’m here, dad.”</p><p>There was silence following his words, so he waited. Heart in his throat.</p><p>
  <em>“Clay? Son, can you hear me?”</em>
</p><p>His stomach sank.</p><p>“I’m-I’m here, dad. I’m right here. C-Can you hear me?” He didn’t respond. “Dad, are you there? Please tell me you can hear me.” He begged, clutching the walkie-talkie with pale fingers. “Dad?”</p><p>A loud sigh echoed out distantly, followed by a faint voice in the background.</p><p>
  <em>“It doesn’t seem like anyone’s there…”</em>
</p><p>His mom…</p><p>They were alive. They were both alive! They weren’t dead!</p><p>But they couldn’t hear him.</p><p>He bit down on his cheek hard enough for it to bleed, eyes squeezing shut.</p><p>“N-No, wait! Mom, dad, please! I-I’m right here! Please, just talk to me!” He choked out, voice rising frantically with every passing word that went unheard.</p><p><em>“Maybe the… frequency is bad… I don’t know.”</em> His dad wondered, crackling faintly through the speaker. <em>“Clay?”</em></p><p>“Dad…” He sobbed, legs wobbling beneath him. He let himself sink to the floor; legs unable to support him anymore.</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t know if you’re there, Clay. I hope you are…”</em>
</p><p>“I am, Dad<em>.</em> I’m here.” He whimpered.</p><p><em>“If you’re here, I need you to listen to me.”</em> He forced himself to keep quiet, muffling the sound of his crying with a hand. <em>“Your mom and I are okay. So are your younger siblings. We’ve all been hiding out in our house. I don’t know about your other sister, none of us have been able to contact her, but I have hope… I have hope for both of you. I hope you’re both okay out there.”</em></p><p>His older sister, she… She’d been staying near her college, just like he was. That meant that she… She might be…</p><p>No, he couldn’t think that. He couldn’t stand the thought.</p><p><em>“We’re starting to run out of food and supplies, and we can’t go out to stock up again.” </em>His dad continued. He sounded tired. <em>“We’re leaving soon.”</em></p><p>Wait… what?</p><p>They’re <em>leaving?</em></p><p>They can’t…</p><p>
  <em>‘They can’t leave!’</em>
</p><p>Dream could find his way back and join up with them! He could go to them. He could <em>find</em> them again. He opened his mouth to say exactly that, but then remembered that they couldn’t hear him. They had no way of knowing.</p><p><em>“We can’t stay here much longer. There’s just not enough food.”</em> His dad explained to a person that he wasn’t even sure was there. <em>“There’s been talk on the radio about a sanctuary being built. A place that survivors can go to for safety. A community. They call it ‘Paradise’, and they’re urging anyone who can to come.”</em></p><p>Paradise?</p><p>
  <em>“It’s the only place we can think of going. They say it’s somewhere up north from Texas, but we don’t know exactly where yet. We’re keeping an ear out for more information, but that’s where we’re heading.”</em>
</p><p><em>Texas</em>? A long and treacherous journey to travel by foot, especially with zombies everywhere. And it didn’t help that they didn’t know where exactly to go. Texas was a big place.</p><p>
  <em>“Son, if you’re out there… If you’re listening to this… Meet us there. Please, go to Paradise. We’ll be waiting for you there. Just north of Texas, follow the rumours.”</em>
</p><p>Texas… Paradise…</p><p>
  <em>“Stay safe, son. We love you. Meet us at Paradise.”</em>
</p><p>Wiping a hand at his eyes, and taking a deep breath in, he let his resolve harden. A new fire lit within him at the information, hope unfurling its brittle wings in his chest in a way that he thought he would never feel again. He looked up, eyes burning with determination.</p><p>“Okay, dad.” He declared, though he knew he couldn’t hear him. “I’ll meet you there.”</p><p>-</p><p>When Dream woke again, it was to silence. He felt well rested, more than he had in a long time.</p><p>An actual bed did wonders to his soul.</p><p>A bit dramatic maybe, but can he really be blamed?</p><p>He peeled his eyes open, blearily catching the thin rays of sunlight peeking out from behind the boarded up window. Sometime after sunrise then. But definitely not late. He’d gotten out of the habit of sleeping in late pretty quickly. It was smartest to start moving as early as possible, so he could spend a whole day travelling. Unless he wanted to travel at night instead, but he definitely didn’t want to. Not unless he absolutely had to.</p><p>He sat up slowly, instantly mourning having to depart from the comforting depths of the bed, and rubbed his eyes.</p><p>It took him a moment to remember the events of yesterday but remember it he did.</p><p>He wondered absently if George had stayed in the apartment, or if he had booked it sometime during the night. Either way, it didn’t really matter. The sooner they parted ways, the better. He didn’t want to get more involved in their little gang feud than he already was. It would only make him stray further from his path, and he was already bone tired of the long journey.</p><p>He stood up and moved around the room, heading to the en-suite bathroom. He caught his reflection in a dirtied mirror on the way in, and almost immediately averted his gaze again. He didn’t need to, and definitely didn’t particularly <em>want </em>to look at himself. He already knew what he looked like. Grimy face, tangled hair, nasty scarring.</p><p>Nothing new.</p><p>He finished up quickly and tried the tap hopefully. Nothing came out, unsurprisingly. Unsurprising, but disappointing, nonetheless.</p><p>He made his way back, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t bother to make it, knowing that no one was going to come back here for a long while. If ever.</p><p>He fished his water bottle out of his bag and dared to take a decent sized gulp, soothing his dry mouth, and refreshing him. Water was definitely the most pressing issue at the moment. He tucked it away again too soon, and instead pulled his gloves and bandanna out.</p><p>He pulled his boots on, lacing them up and making a double knot to keep it secure - untied laces were really unhelpful when you had to run – quickly followed by him tying his bandanna back around his face. More out of self-consciousness than protection, but he didn’t care.</p><p>He stood, slipping his gloves on, and then picking up his bag and his axe. Time to go.</p><p>The door was nice enough not to jam when he unlocked it, though it did creak in protest. The door to the guest room was closed when he passed it, and he didn’t stop to check if it meant George was sleeping in it.</p><p>He rounded the corner into the lounge and faltered.</p><p>George lay draped over the couch, absently playing with the bowstring of his compound bow. Wide awake, and very clearly waiting for something. And if he had to guess what for, the answer would be himself.</p><p>The brunet looked up, then sat up as he came into sight, baring his teeth in a blisteringly sweet smile. One that he refused to look at properly, because it was an unfairly cute sight, even with the mottled bruising and the small cuts marring his face.</p><p>“About time. I thought you’d never wake up.” He complained good-naturedly, looking totally at ease from his place on the couch. Like he was greeting a friend, and not someone he’d almost killed the day before.</p><p>Dream didn’t trust this.</p><p>He didn’t trust it one bit.</p><p>“You waited for me,” He started off cautiously, eyeing him. Not a question, because he already knew it. What followed definitely was a question though. “Why?”</p><p>George blinked. “Well why not? Can’t I wait for you?” He laughed, the sound more pleasant than he cared to admit.</p><p>Alarm bells rang in his head.</p><p>It took everything in him not to reach for his gun, his knife, <em>anything. </em>Because he knew that look, and he didn’t like it one bit. That fake kindness. The honeyed words concealing the danger, and the sweet smile hiding sharp teeth and an even sharper tongue.</p><p>“What do you want?”</p><p>“Why do you assume I want something?” He countered evenly, though far more cheerfully than his own cold words.</p><p>“You did the same with me yesterday.” He gave him an unimpressed look, and finally George cracked, rolling his eyes.</p><p>“Fine, maybe I do.” He admitted, his smile dropping slightly. Not disappearing entirely, but definitely not as sickeningly sweet anymore. Noticing the way he stood, tense and cautious in the doorway, he waved a hand around lazily. “You can relax, Dream. I just want to talk. That’s all.”</p><p>Talk, huh?</p><p>That didn’t sound like it could come to any good. But when George gestured to the seat across from him, he hesitantly obliged, edging closer and taking a seat.</p><p>“About what?” He hedged.</p><p>“I have an offer for you.”</p><p>He couldn’t keep himself from frowning at that, confusion ringing through him. An… offer?</p><p>“I know you’re running low on supplies.”</p><p>His brain stalled.</p><p>
  <em>How did he know that?</em>
</p><p>“I-Uh-What?” He found himself stammering, oh so intelligently. Clutching desperately for his composure. “What makes you say that?”</p><p>“I saw the way you looked through your bag last night. You weren’t happy with whatever you saw, and I noticed you drinking <em>very</em> sparingly from that bottle of yours. So I made an educated guess and figured you were running low. Probably on food, definitely on water.” George shrugged, like those things were obvious to see. Like <em>anyone</em> could have seen it.</p><p>He only stared back, a pit of dread unfurling in his stomach.</p><p>He’d <em>severely</em> underestimated this guy’s intelligence and he knew that now.</p><p>“What of it?” He asked, ignoring the sudden dryness of his mouth.</p><p>“The pack I stole just happened to be storing a good amount of both food and water in it, and I’ve already scavenged this place for its worth. All in all, I have enough food to last me a few weeks.” He said, tapping the bag next to him fondly with a hand.</p><p>He cursed mentally but forced himself to keep a straight face externally. He’d been meaning to look around the kitchen to see if there was any extra food or resources he could take before he left. That wasn’t an option anymore, unfortunately.</p><p>“And?” He pressed, trying not to show how thrown he was.</p><p>This guy was smart.</p><p>Way too smart.</p><p>“And I’m willing to share my supplies with you if…” He trailed off theatrically, an amused gleam in those dark, calculating eyes of his. He found himself dreading the next words to come out of his mouth. “If you take me back to my gang.”</p><p>“…<em>Excuse me</em>?”</p><p>George gifted his incredulous words with a soft laugh. “Escort me back. I want you to take me and, most importantly, protect me on my way back to my gang.”</p><p>“You’re crazy.” He eventually decided, eyeing him disbelievingly. “You’re actually crazy.”</p><p>“No I’m not.” The brunet countered evenly, shrugging his slender shoulders impassively.</p><p>
  <em>‘Debatable.’</em>
</p><p>“Why do you even want me to take you? I know you don’t trust me, and you look like you can handle yourself out there just fine anyway. You don’t need me.” He argued, fairly on-edge. He didn’t trust this even slightly, and it only made him more uneasy when the other male started to lean forward, resting his chin on his palms, eyes glinting.</p><p>“Maybe, maybe not. But we can all do with some extra protection sometimes, right?” Then his tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he had to force himself to keep his gaze up, refusing to look anywhere beyond his eyes. “You look pretty strong. You could probably protect me from zombies and gangsters alike. Isn’t that right, <em>Dream</em>?” His name rolled off of his tongue like syrup, low and sensual in a way that made a shiver race up his spine.</p><p>Dream absolutely did <em>not</em> blush like a schoolgirl.</p><p>“I-Ah-I mean-I guess?” He spluttered, fervently trying to deny the fact that he had been reduced into a flustered mess by one sentence. By one <em>word.</em> “But that-that doesn’t matter. I’d be stupid to accept this deal.”</p><p>“You’d be stupid not to accept it too.” He pointed out, obviously amused by his reaction, if that blinding, too-many-teeth smile was anything to go by.</p><p>“You literally threatened me yesterday.” He deadpanned, willing his flush to disappear. “You wanted to kill me.”</p><p>“Well I changed my mind.”</p><p>He felt his face twitch, and he fought hard to keep himself from showing his disbelief. “You changed your-<em>too bad</em>!” He snapped, running a gloved hand through his hair. “I’m not going to… to… <em>escort</em> you to your gang.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Because I’m going to Paradise.”</p><p>“Our base is on the way to Paradise.”</p><p>“I don’t care. I’m not going to be your bodyguard all the way across the country. I don’t even know if I can trust you yet!” He argued, shutting down his attempt at bargaining coldly each time.</p><p>“You can trust me.” George, the monster, assured sweetly. Having the audacity to give him a smile that lit up his face wonderfully. The picture of innocence. If he hadn’t already seen his claws in action, he might have even believed the invisible halo hovering above his head deceivingly.</p><p>‘You can trust me.’ He said.</p><p>
  <em>That was doubtful.</em>
</p><p>“Can I?” He challenged.</p><p>Silence followed his question, his doubt dripping off of the words. The brunet had the good sense to drop that façade of his, though he kept a pleasant look on his face.</p><p>“Well, I could have killed you in your sleep and I didn’t.” He pointed out.</p><p>“Right, that fills me with <em>such</em> confidence.” He said sarcastically.</p><p>“As it should.” <em>That son of a</em>- “Look, I know that my friends will be really grateful if you do take me back. They’ll give you supplies. A place to stay. Directions to Paradise even. Come on, please?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Please?”</p><p>“No. I’m sorry, but I can’t-”</p><p>“Can’t or won’t?” He interrupted, quirking an eyebrow.</p><p>“Both.” He hesitated, before deciding for the truth. “I can’t protect you, all right?”</p><p>The brunet didn’t look convinced. “Yes you can. You did already.” He reminded him, causing him to exhale explosively.</p><p>“That isn’t the same thing. I was just in the right place at the right time.”</p><p>“You could have turned me in. Or left me to fend for myself. But you didn’t do either. You <em>helped</em> me.”</p><p>“I don’t know what to tell you.” Dream shrugged, looking away uncertainly. “This just isn’t a good idea. I’m not going to do it.”</p><p>Silence. Deafening, heavy silence that he didn’t like at all.</p><p>He refused to break it though, and refused to look at the other male either. He didn’t want to see whatever emotions were passing through those calculating eyes.</p><p>He just didn’t trust him.</p><p>Sure, he could have killed him already, but that wasn’t exactly a good basis to form trust on. For all he knew, this could be a trap. George could be leading him right into an ambush. Or he could be wanting to use him as zombie bait. He had no idea, but none of the options sounded like any good.</p><p>A tiny part of his brain whispered, <em>‘Maybe he’s actually a good person. Maybe this isn’t a trap, and he just wants to get home safe and sound. Maybe you should trust him.’</em></p><p>But he was more inclined to squish that train of thought quickly.</p><p>“Fine…” A defeated sigh pulled him back, and he automatically flicked his gaze back to him. George was slumped back on the couch, knees drawn to his chest and his arms around his legs. He looked… small like that. Small and vulnerable in a way that tugged painfully at his heart. “Fine. I get it. You need to look out for yourself.” He ducked his head, dark hair falling over his eyes. The flash he had caught of them glistened with what looked like… tears? Wait, was he <em>crying</em>?</p><p>The thought alone threw him so hard he felt dizzy.</p><p>“I just… I miss them.” He whispered hoarsely, sounding completely and utterly miserable. “I need to get back to my family.” He sniffled, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. “I… I don’t know if I can make it on my own, but…” He let out a shaky exhale. “I guess I have to try. Even if I die… alone and abandoned… With no one even knowing I was dead…” He buried his head in his arms, words muffling, “And all because no one would help me…”</p><p>Dream only stared.</p><p>Until the pieces clicked together in his mind.</p><p>“Oh my god. You’re <em>actually </em>trying to guilt trip me.”</p><p>George sniffed again, a long, emphasised thing. Shiny eyes peeked up from behind his mess of hair, eyelashes damp with tears. A sight that probably would have melted him into a puddle on the floor if he hadn’t seen that ever so slight look in his gaze. That cunning look. It still managed to tug at his heartstrings somehow anyway.</p><p>He wiped a hand across his eyes slowly, sniffling pointedly. “…Is it working?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>!” He snapped incredulously, surging to his feet.</p><p>Yes.</p><p>Yes it was working.</p><p>And he hated himself immensely for being so weak to that look. And to the words that he spoke, so genuine and saddened that he couldn’t help but feel terrible for declining.</p><p>He always had been a compassionate person; willing to jump into trouble any time someone needed his help. He had thought it a good quality once upon a time, but that time had long since passed. Now it only got him into more trouble than it was worth. He remembered the time he’d found a dog roaming the streets, hungry and in need of a bath, and so, <em>so</em> friendly. It had broken his heart to part ways with the poor thing. But he knew, rationally, he would never be able to care for an animal in this wasteland.</p><p>There was no place for soft hearts in this time.</p><p>“Look,” George started off, unfolding his legs. The crocodile tears gone from his face in seconds. “You need food. You need supplies. I’ve got both. All you have to do is… walk me back home and protect me if you need to. It’s on the way to Paradise. And besides, having company is nice sometimes.” He reasoned, standing up as well until they stood face to face with each other. “What do you have to lose?” He seemed to be able to hear his thoughts, his doubts, in a way that unnerved him immensely. </p><p>“Besides my life?” He snarked, ignoring the way his stomach flipped when the other male smiled, eyes crinkling with his amusement.</p><p>The stranger smiled again, this one a lot softer, a lot more <em>real</em> than most of his previous ones had been. “I’m not going to kill you, Dream. And this isn’t a trap either. I genuinely think that this is our best chance of survival here.” He assured, voice quiet and soothing in a way that felt deceptively real. “You helped me once before, help me again.”</p><p>Goddammit.</p><p>He hated his life.</p><p>He hated himself.</p><p>
  <em>Why was he actually considering this?</em>
</p><p>This was insanity. He didn’t know this guy! He didn’t know if this was a trap, or if he was going to betray him. He knew little to nothing about him!</p><p>…So why was he actually considering this?</p><p>As much as he was loathe to admit it… He did have some good points. He was running dangerously low on food and water. And if things went right, he would be a lot closer to his goal, as well as rewarded with supplies. It was a good idea for the long run, but…</p><p>But that was only if he didn’t get his throat slit by the owner of those intelligent eyes on the way.</p><p>He clenched his jaw, mind racing. He didn’t know what to do.</p><p>“So,” George held a hand out, meeting his eyes once more. Those intelligent, cunning eyes. “What do you say? Do we have a deal, Dream?”</p><p>He exhaled slowly, unable to look away.</p><p>
  <em>Oh to hell with it.</em>
</p><p>He took his hand and shook it.</p><p>“We have a deal.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>BAMF Gogy is now my life, that is all.</p><p>Anyway, I'd like to ask for future reference: Do you guys like the long chapters (9-10 000ish words) that take a bit longer to come out, or would you prefer me to write shorter chapters (5-6000ish) and update more quickly? What are your thoughts? Preferences?</p><p>As always, feel free to give me feedback and criticism (or any comments really!! I love comments X3), and I will see you in the next chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A grotesque sight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all. I really am sorry about the late update. I planned on posting a chapter for Christmas and another for new years eve, but my laptop crashed and I, unfortunately, lost everything. That made me rather depressed and unwilling to write for a while, so this chapter is later than I hoped it would be.<br/>Anyway, enough about that. I hope you all had happy holidays! Keep safe and stay well, everyone.<br/>I hope you enjoy &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Travelling with George was… Easy.</p><p>A lot easier than he had first thought it would be.</p><p>For the most part, he was a quiet companion. Only speaking when he wanted to point something out, or to complain about the hot weather. Or on the few occasions when he seemed to get bored and decided to annoy Dream enough to trick him into talking back. Other than that, he was relatively silent and well versed in keeping out of danger.</p><p>That was apparent enough when a patrol car had come around a corner and he had sprinted out of sight into the nearest alley, leaving Dream to scramble after him. He’d figured out then that George had no qualms about leaving him behind if it meant he would remain safe.</p><p>The thought just made him all the more conscious of his lack of trust in his temporary companion. They may be travelling together, but that didn’t mean he trusted him, or even <em>liked</em> him for that matter. Not when he knew George would just use him to survive. Even if it meant he died in the process.</p><p>He knew his type. And he didn’t like it one bit.</p><p>But despite having that knowledge, and ignoring the few hiccups they’d encountered, their journey had been surprisingly easy so far. Getting out of the city had only taken another two days, with them camping out in abandoned apartments during the nights and avoiding the constant gang patrols during the days. And with George’s supply of food and water, he was no longer afraid of running out soon. It also helped that they’d found a small, relatively untouched shop that they’d been able to raid a good deal of supplies from.</p><p>If he excluded the constant paranoia hanging over him, he might have even said he enjoyed having a companion.</p><p>He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone to watch his back while he slept, or had someone that could laugh about his dislike for mornings when he woke up, groggy and very <em>not</em> put-together. He didn’t realise how much he’d missed having someone he could casually banter and trade stories with until suddenly he did.</p><p>Because while George didn’t like revealing much about himself, he had plenty of stories to tell and jokes to crack when he tired of staying quiet. And he couldn’t help but like his company.</p><p>He didn’t like how comforting it was. Especially not from someone who didn’t really give a shit about whether he lived or died in the long run.</p><p>He just blamed it on his lack of socialisation.</p><p>He lifted an arm to wipe at his forehead, feeling sticky and gross with sweat. The sun shone high above them, stifling hot. Unfortunately, leaving the city also meant they had to go through the countryside instead. Which in turn meant that they had no break from the scalding heat. They’d strayed from the road a long time ago when the compass had nudged them into another direction, so instead they found themselves walking through abandoned fields.</p><p>With rolling hills upon hills of land, they had no reprieve, no solace in any shade. Just miles of abandoned farm plots with no visible end in sight. Now when George complained about the heat, he felt more inclined to agree. To prevent himself from getting sunburnt too badly, he’d chosen to wear his hoodie despite the temperature. He’d rather get stuffy than sunburnt, and with no sunscreen this was the best protection he had.</p><p>His only comfort came in the form of George mimicking his idea and wearing his own jacket with his hood up to hide his face from the sun. He didn’t look any better than he felt, with his cheeks rosy and sweat dripping from his skin. Not to mention the exhausted look in his eyes that came from being in the sun for hours on end.</p><p>Dream lifted his eyes, squinting in the direction of the sun. The blasted thing just blazed hotter in return. He stopped walking. A long journey lay ahead of them, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have time to stop and take a minute to rest.</p><p>“I think we should break for a bit here.” He said, ignoring the sharp exhale of, <em>“Oh thank god,” </em>from his companion.</p><p>He set his bag down on a haybale, before collapsing down onto it. He might have been fit – you have to be if you’re constantly on the move – but the heat had taken its toll on him. He dug through his bag, yanking out his newest bottle. He lifted his mask up to take a lengthy drink. The water was a bit too warm for it to be refreshing, but it was still better than nothing and his throat rejoiced at the small relief.</p><p>George sat on the bale next to him, desperately gulping his water down like he was dying. It took a nudge from Dream to get him to slow down, and even then he was reluctant to stop.</p><p>“Save some for the rest of the trip.” He reminded him, chancing another sip from his own bottle.</p><p>“Oh come on. It’s hot, I need water.” George complained, leaning heavily on his shoulder.</p><p>That was another thing he’d noticed him doing more and more as the days passed. While Dream himself was a guy who liked being touched, he didn’t like it when someone he didn’t know did it. And he had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that the brunet was just doing it to try and get his guard to drop.</p><p>He fought back the urge to shove him off, not quite comfortable enough to let him be so touchy with him. Instead he just gingerly shrugged him off and scooted over. “We don’t know how long it’s going to be until we find anywhere we can resupply. We need to be careful about what we drink.”</p><p>“Okay, okay. I get it.” George huffed, though he looked faintly amused at his awkward attempt at creating more space between them.</p><p>He ignored the look and instead snagged a pack of dried fruit out of his bag. A small snack to keep him going through the day. George had a similar thought and tugged out his own snack; some kind of energy bar that he didn’t care enough to identify.</p><p>He studied the fruit as he opened the packet, wondering absently when the last time he had had fresh fruit had been. Long, long ago for sure. Now the only time was when he ate canned food or dried snacks like this. Maybe the longer they travelled through the countryside they’d come across a fruit farm. If everything hasn’t already rotted away, that is.</p><p>“Fruit salad,” He sang beneath his breath, remembering that stupid song he’d heard all those years ago.</p><p>“Yummy, yummy.” George continued for him, to his immense surprise.</p><p>George caught his eyes, blown wide with astonishment, and grinned. It was so… so <em>unexpected</em>, that Dream couldn’t help but crack up, and the two of them burst into a fit of laughter. Dream found himself full on laughing, like he used to do. With his wheezing, obnoxiously loud tea-kettle laugh and tears in his eyes. And the more he laughed, the more George did.</p><p>It was only minutes later that he finally managed to compose himself, and even then he had to wipe his eyes and his stomach hurt.</p><p>He missed laughing like this, he realised absently. Loud and carefree and <em>genuine. </em>He wanted to laugh with his friends like he used to. He wanted to… He wanted to be happy and carefree like he used to be.</p><p>“…I miss music.” He said eventually.</p><p>George gave him a smile, looking more at ease than he usually did. Maybe they’d both needed a good laugh.</p><p>“Me too.” He sighed, shifting his gaze to stare out at the endless field before them. “What else do you miss?”</p><p>So much. He missed so much.</p><p>Food, and safety, and cars, and people. The list was near endless, if he was being honest. He missed not having to worry about what he was going to eat the next week. He missed not having to watch his back constantly. He missed having people around and talking with friends. He missed the old world.</p><p>He missed being happy.</p><p> “Videogames.” He answered simply instead, choosing not to voice that – rather depressing – thought.</p><p>“Same.” The brunet chuckled.</p><p>“And you? What do you miss?”</p><p>George went quiet for a while, probably thinking over the question. Dream let him, chewing on a piece of dried fruit. It didn’t taste great, but he didn’t really care. Food was food.</p><p>“I miss my family.” He sighed after a while, playing with the strings of his hoodie absentmindedly.</p><p>He eyed him curiously, debating whether or not to push his luck with this. George seemed willing to share <em>some</em> information about himself, but he wasn’t exactly keen on pushing him too far and creating more of a rift between them. It wouldn’t be pleasant to travel with someone that hated your guts, after all.</p><p>Finally he decided to try, his curiosity winning out.</p><p>“Your family? Are they back at your base?” He prompted gently.</p><p>But George shook his head, his good mood fading quickly as his gentle smile fell. A haunted look glistened through his eyes. “No. They’re in London… somewhere. If they’re still alive, that is.”</p><p>“Oh.” He looked away after a moment, guilt sifting through him. “A few days ago you said… I’m sorry. I just assumed.”</p><p>“I was talking about my friends.” He explained. “They’re basically my family now, without them I’d be dead.” He shrugged and wiped a hand over his forehead. “I was staying with a friend for a while and got stuck here when all the airports closed. I had no way of getting back or contacting them, so…”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” He apologised again. It wasn’t fair that so many families were forced to separate during this. And with no way to contact them… He was just grateful he had an idea of where his own family was.</p><p>George nodded, accepting his apology sagely while he busied himself with another piece of fruit.</p><p>“And your family?” The brunet asked suddenly, turning his body to look at him better, face cooling over impassively. Like he hadn’t just been sad at all. His ability to change emotions so easily was honestly unnerving, but he chose not to dwell on that thought.</p><p>He was tempted to avoid answering, or deflect to another topic, but… George <em>had</em> just admitted something personal to him. It would be wrong of him not to do so in return, after such an obvious step forward between them.</p><p>“They should be waiting for me in Paradise.” He answered. At George’s curious look, he continued, “When all this began, I was in my apartment and my parents contacted me through a walkie-talkie. They told me to go to Paradise, so that’s where I’m going.”</p><p>He nodded again in understanding. But he didn’t look away, instead choosing to watch him. It was a bit uncomfortable to be stared at so intently, but he tried not to care. Tried to ignore it.</p><p>Instead he looked out over the golden-brown field, eyeing the too-long patches of grass and wheat and who knows what else. With no one to maintain the crops, it was no wonder everything was overgrown and messy. It didn’t matter though, it just meant he had to be careful where he stepped.</p><p>Far off in the distance a faint silhouette shambled about, but the zombie was too far away for it to be a threat to them. That was another advantage of going through the countryside; the zombies tended to stray to more populated areas, so the few that hung around here were spread thin across the area and could be taken out easily. They’d only encountered a handful of the corpses on their journey so far, and he and George had been able to take them out without much effort.</p><p>He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or wary to see that George was <em>definitely</em> more than capable of defending himself against the undead. Despite his lean build and stature, he fought and killed with an ease that came with months and months of practice. Whatever his gang did, at least they trained their members to fight zombies well.</p><p>He reached a hand up under his bandanna to slip another piece of fruit into his mouth.</p><p>“Why do you wear that?” George piped up, causing him to refocus on the brunet.</p><p>“Wear what?”</p><p>“That bandanna.” He specified, leaning back on his hands.</p><p>He refused to let his expression change, just shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “Protection.” Came his short reply.</p><p>“It can’t <em>just</em> be for protection, right? It’s just a bandanna, what’s it gonna do against a zombie?” He pressed, seemingly not catching the <em>drop it </em>tone of his voice. Or just ignoring it.</p><p>“…I guess not.” He agreed hesitantly, catching his hand reaching up to rub his cheek when he felt a phantom pain arc across his skin, blinding hot and warm with blood. He blinked himself out of the memory, dropping his hand onto his lap again. “It’s more of a… self-conscious thing, I guess.”</p><p>George seemed to understand what he meant and, thankfully, dropped the subject after that. He’d seen him without his mask on, after all.</p><p>“I think we should start walking again.” He forced himself to his feet after a while, ignoring the sharp whine of protest he got from George in return. “Oh come on. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll find somewhere we can really rest.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”</p><p>-</p><p>Hours later they finally found a sign of civilisation. A gas station and convenience store looming before them, practically glittering like a mirage in the desert. An oasis in the overwhelming heat around them. He damn near cried in relief. Even with boarded up windows, dust and dirt smeared across the walls, and glass shards littering the floor, nothing would make it any less appealing for him.</p><p>He lifted his eyes, noting how far the sun had travelled across the sky. Almost half a day had passed. They could potentially even stay here the night, but… That would lose precious travelling time. They could definitely do with a little more rest though, so maybe they should just set up camp here anyway.</p><p>“I think that’s as good a place as any to rest up and recover for a while.” He sighed, skin already craving the cool shade the building promised.</p><p>“About time.” George complained good-naturedly, taking a step forward.</p><p>He snapped an arm out in front of him, stopping him in place.</p><p>“Wait.” Green eyes scanned across the dilapidated building, taking everything in slowly. There was no noise, and no movement anywhere around it, or coming from inside it. But something immediately got him on guard. “You see that?”</p><p>George squinted for a moment. “The petrol station? Yeah, I see it.”</p><p>Dream turned and gave him an unimpressed look.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The door. Look at the door, George.”</p><p>It took his companion a few moments to notice it, but when he did his eyes lit up with understanding.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Right.” He agreed, lowering his voice significantly. Because a bag lay against the door, keeping it open. A bag that looked well used and recently put there. “There’s probably someone in there.”</p><p>“We have guns. Can’t we just chase whoever’s there out?” George asked, hand already drifting to his own pistol holstered at his hip.</p><p>“I don’t think that’s a smart idea. We should scope them out a bit first. Maybe talk to them, see if we can work something out. Besides, what if they’re friendly?” He reasoned. George just gave him an incredulous laugh in return.</p><p>“Friendly? Not a chance.” He rebuffed.</p><p>Dream fought hard not to let his irritation show.</p><p>“Look, if you’re so against that, why don’t you wait out here and let me deal with it?” He folded his arms over his chest.</p><p>The brunet considered it, but then shook his head with an overly loud sigh. “No… Splitting up too far isn’t smart. Fine, we’ll try it your way. But if things go wrong and they have a gun, you’d better take a bullet for me.”</p><p>“Oh please.”</p><p>The two made their way to the station, both on high alert and on the lookout for whoever had found this place before they had. Because while he had hope that whoever it was was in fact friendly, he had no way to know for sure. George visibly hung back when he approached the door, willing to let him take the lead like he usually did. That, or he just wanted him to go in first in case there <em>was</em> actually some danger. After all, he didn’t care if Dream got hurt, as long as he was fine.</p><p>Shaking his head of that thought – too distracting for him to be thinking of right now – he pushed the door open further and slipped inside, stepping over the bag keeping it in place. Initially he had to narrow his eyes to see better in the darkness, the boarded up windows keeping most of the light from entering the dingy shop.</p><p>A noise startled him and his hand dropped to his knife, tugging it from its sheath on his leg. He continued inside, walking slowly and carefully, being cautious not to let himself step on any glass. He didn’t want to alert whoever it was just yet. George didn’t follow him.</p><p>“Look!” A muffled voice rose up somewhere in the back of the convenience store, maybe in a backroom or something. “Tommy, look what I found!”</p><p>It was a guy’s voice, that he was certain of. But it was also… surprisingly young. It also told him that there were at least two people here. Maybe more that he didn’t know of.</p><p>Keeping low, he crept down the aisle, avoiding the empty packets of chips and other snack packages littering the ground. He didn’t want to make a noise and give his location away just yet. He ducked his head at the sound of footsteps, much closer than he thought they would be.</p><p>“What is it now?” A second voice filtered through from the aisle one over from his. He spotted a head of blonde hair bobbing across the top of the shelf as he walked past. Definitely young, if his voice had anything to say about it.</p><p>He eyed the quickly disappearing head, watching as the kid went to his companion. There had to be an adult somewhere here, right? Two kids wouldn’t on their own. But the more he looked around the abandoned store, the more his stomach sank.</p><p>He really hoped he was wrong. He hoped to god they weren’t on their own, for their sakes.</p><p>Something to the left of him growled. He watched, inhaling sharply, as a zombie lurched forward, a gargle caught in its decayed throat. Sunken in, hollow eyes traced after its prey, rotted teeth bared and wet with blood and saliva alike. It wasn’t looking at him though. No, the creature hadn’t spotted him yet. Instead it stared after the retreating kid’s back. Tattered clothes hung from its decayed frame, and he had a feeling it had been there for a long time.</p><p>It tugged itself forward, but jolted to a stop again before it could get anywhere. Now that he looked closer, he realised that, <em>somehow</em>, the zombie had gotten its arm crushed between two heavy shelves, keeping it stuck in place.</p><p>The two kids had to have seen it, but had obviously deemed it not a threat, and so left it trapped there. Well that was a relief, he didn’t want it going after the two kids in the other room. He let out his breath, allowing himself to relax again. He should come out now, try and talk to the two of them. Hopefully they could come to some kind of an understanding, or at the very least-</p><p>He snapped his attention back to the incapacitated zombie at the sound of something cracking, eyeing it warily. What was it doing? It struggled violently against the shelves, trying mindlessly to free itself to go after its prey, yanking and pulling violently, without care of its own wellbeing.</p><p>Dream had learnt quickly enough that zombies were a lot stronger than people were. After all, humans had so much unused strength, it was simply limitations that kept them from doing all sorts of crazy things. Hysterical strength, and all that. But with no inhibitions to keep them from holding back, zombies did whatever they could to get to their prey.</p><p>He’d seen them scratch their fingernails off and bash their skulls in against doors to break them down. He’d seen them shove their way through obstacles too heavy for normal humans to move, and then lose control of their arms or legs; tendons and muscles torn at the sheer force of it. He’d even seen them rip their own jaws off trying to bite someone through items too hard to bite through.</p><p>It was terrifying, what lengths these mindless, uninhibited creatures could go to. Crippling themselves trying to get to their prey.</p><p>He had seen a lot.</p><p>Still, he had never seen <em>this</em>.</p><p>The zombie frantically shoved itself forward, tugging violently on its arm. Snarls bubbled through the partially destroyed vocal cords, teeth clicking and mouth dripping. In a frenzy, it jerked and jolted and <em>ripped.</em></p><p>And before his very eyes, the arm was slowly tearing off.</p><p>The creature might have been thin and bony, but it was deceptively strong, just as all zombies were. Despite having decayed away and slowly rotted from the inside out, it was so much stronger than he had once thought, before all of this began.</p><p>And piece by piece, ligament by ligament, the zombie slowly started ripping itself free of its own limb. The decomposed muscles gave way to each vicious tug, unable to keep its body together, joint splitting apart appallingly. A grotesque sight.</p><p> He could only watch, horrified and morbidly unable to look away, as the creature tore itself free of its cage. It stumbled forward with one last yank, leaving behind half of its arm in the process. Thick, stagnant liquid poured, bone jutting out from what remained of its arm.</p><p>And the kids, completely unaware of the approaching danger, chatted away to themselves. It made another noise, something almost excited, and began a swift, staggering walk to the room the kids had disappeared into. His heart leapt into his throat, and his body started moving without him having to think about it.</p><p>Dream sprung into action, unable to let the kids face this creature by themselves.</p><p>He grabbed a handful of its greasy hair and yanked its head back. Glossy, <em>hungry</em> eyes met his for a split second, the zombie growling violently at the sight of new prey. Then he brought his knife down, spearing it through the skull before it could turn on him. A spray of green-black blood flew into the air, and he immediately had to fight back the urge to gag violently at the smell that came with it. Zombies fucking <em>reeked</em>. He yanked it out and repeated the process a few more times, knowing to always make sure it was dead before moving on.</p><p>Stabs to the head, decapitation and burning the bodies were the best way to get rid of zombies. But the first option didn’t always work completely, so he had learnt to strike as many times as he could if he had the time. Or else the creature might get right back up again.</p><p>He stepped back, letting the zombie drop to the ground at his feet with one last wheeze, and slid his blood-soaked knife back into its place.</p><p>“Stay right where you are.”</p><p>The voice, smooth but cold, belonged to someone he hadn’t yet heard.</p><p>The kids weren’t alone after all.</p><p>He didn’t know if he should feel relieved, or terrified about that.</p><p>“Turn around. Slowly.” He complied carefully, keeping his hands in clear view of the stranger, guessing that they had a weapon of some kind. What met him was another man, with dark hair covered in a beanie and a gun pointed squarely at his chest. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” The stranger asked, accent strikingly clear once he realised that he wasn’t American.</p><p>What was it with him and being threatened by attractive British guys lately?</p><p>“My name is Dream. I’m just passing through.” He decided on the truth, keeping his voice as steady and calm as he could.</p><p>“Are you alone?”</p><p>That question gave him pause. Should he mention that George was lingering just outside the store, waiting for him to give the all clear? Or should he lie and keep on the pretence of being on his own? Either way could go south real damn quick. For all he knew, the stranger could just execute him immediately if he realised no help was coming.</p><p>On the other hand, claiming he wasn’t alone could potentially put George in danger too.</p><p>He was saved from having to answer when the two boys from before came jogging back in. A blond and a brunet, both with big eyes and round, young faces. They stopped a bit away from him, standing to his right – and cutting off his only escape route, unfortunately. Unless he was willing to try and jump over the shelves to escape, but that would take too much time for it to actually work for him. He’d just be shot down before he could make a running leap.</p><p>He did notice that he <em>was</em> right about them being just kids, though.</p><p>“Wilbur? What’s going on? Who’s that?” The blond came to a stop with a flurry of questions, eyeing him warily from his other side. The other kid stood partially obscured behind him; probably an unconscious thing, but still peeked over the other’s shoulder curiously at him.</p><p>“Are we in trouble?” He asked, eyes catching his.</p><p>“Everything’s going to be fine, boys. Just stay back.” The older stranger – Wilbur, apparently - warned them, though his gaze never left him. Neither did the gun.</p><p>He took that as his cue to speak again, tearing his eyes away. They were kids. <em>Kids.</em> He wasn’t going to start trouble with them. The best choice would just be to leave. He just hoped this Wilbur could be convinced that far.</p><p>Well, he had to try. He refused to fight his way out of this one.</p><p>“I’m Dream. I came in here for shelter, that’s all. I’m not a threat to you.”</p><p>The blond made a small noise, not unlike a scoff, in the back of his throat, before muttering a scornful, <em>‘Likely story,’ </em>beneath his breath.</p><p>‘Wilbur’ studied him unwaveringly, as if trying to discern his true intention. It reminded him eerily of another brunet Brit he knew. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but his attention caught on something to Dream’s right. His eyes went wide and panicky and he immediately turned his aim to the boys instead.</p><p>Dream’s head snapped to the side, heart jumping at another potential threat-</p><p>Only to see George standing behind the two teens, gun in hand and a carefully blank look placed over his face. His stomach sank.</p><p>“Put the gun down and your hands up now, unless you want me to shoot these two where they stand.” He ordered, voice cold. Colder than he’d heard in a little while now.</p><p>About as cold as he’d been when he’d been holding <em>him</em> at knife point.</p><p>It scared him.</p><p>Because these were kids he was threatening. Not a grown man. Not murderers. <em>Kids</em>.</p><p>“George-” He tried weakly, but went ignored at his companion’s sharp snap of,</p><p>“Now!”</p><p>The two boys cautiously lifted their hands, one of them trembling faintly, and both of them pale and solemn. The shorter one looked between him and Wilbur, as if silently pleading for help. Wilbur on the other hand stared back with wide, helpless eyes. He felt his stomach clench painfully at the sight.</p><p>“George!” He barked back, managing to catch his attention this time. Confusion coloured his gaze for a moment as their eyes met. “Put the gun down!” Confusion shifted into shock.</p><p>“Wha-Dream, <em>what</em>?” He spluttered, his aim wavering visibly.</p><p>“Put it down.” He repeated, face hard.</p><p>“But-He’s got a gun pointed at you-” He protested.</p><p>“They’re just kids!” He hissed, eyes burning hot with the heat of his glare. “Put. It. <em>Down</em>.”</p><p>The ‘O<em>r I’ll make you’</em> went unsaid, but not unheard.</p><p>George recoiled, taken aback by the brittle anger in his voice and the unspoken threat. It took him a moment to realise why he was so stunned; this was the first time he’d seen him filled with such bitter, fierce anger. And towards <em>him</em> no less.</p><p>Annoyed? Sure. Pissed? Of course. He’d threatened him at knifepoint, for god sake.</p><p>But this was the first time George had seen him with a deadly fire in his eyes and a barely concealed threat in his words. He saw the confused hurt flash through his expression as the two stared at each other, the tension between them rising slowly but steadily, but neither said a word further.</p><p>He’d known that George was dangerous. He’d <em>known</em> that he would do some ruthless things to survive.</p><p>But this?</p><p><em>This</em> was taking it too far.</p><p>George faltered, seeming to understand that he wasn’t going to back down about this. After a few more moments, he gave in and dropped his arms, looking away from Dream, eyes hardening coldly. He had a feeling that whatever walls he had been slowly chipping down during their journey had just come slamming straight back up again.</p><p>He’d worry about that later.</p><p>The moment the gun was no longer an immediate threat, Wilbur gestured with a hand and the two teenagers went rushing forward, darting past Dream and into safety behind the tall brunet. He could see the relief softening the older boy’s face, though he didn’t lower his own gun.</p><p>“Look, what I said is true.” He tried again, lowering his voice significantly as he stepped in front of George. He wasn’t sure if he was doing it more for his safety, or for theirs. But he did it anyway, blocking the two groups from each other. “We were just passing through. We mean you no harm, I’m sorry for scaring you like this. If you let us, we’ll get out of your hair and you’ll never have to see us again.”</p><p>Wilbur studied him, working his jaw anxiously. Clearly thinking something through.</p><p>“Fuck.” He eventually hissed out, shoulders slumping and hands dropping to his sides. “Fine.” Dream let out some of his tension through a relieved sigh, able to breathe freely again. “I don’t like that <em>that</em> one threatened my boys,” He started, sending George a dirty look over his shoulder. His companion responded by stepping forward and baring his teeth, bristling at the look, but Dream stopped him with an arm. “<em>But</em>…” He turned his attention back to Dream. “You knew that zombie was heading for them, didn’t you?”</p><p>He blinked, realising with a start that this guy had probably been watching him the majority of the time he’d been in the store - if not the whole time - if he’d seen him deal with the one armed zombie. He nodded mutely.</p><p>Wilbur’s expression softened noticeably. “You stopped it from taking them by surprise. So I guess I should thank you for that.” Dream, unsure of how to respond to that, just remained silent.</p><p>Again he didn’t have to worry about giving an answer when a guttural cry rose up somewhere outside, startling all five of them.</p><p>“Small zombie group heading our way.” George supplied to Dream. “I saw them coming, that’s why I came in here. To warn you.”</p><p>Well shit.</p><p>“How many?” He asked, deciding to ignore the potential danger of dropping his guard in front of a group of strangers in favour of focusing on the bigger threat. He moved past his companion, heading to the boarded windows to peer through the mall cracks between. He vaguely noticed Wilbur doing the same, coming to rest beside him.</p><p>“Two dozen? Three? I’m not sure. But it’s big enough to be a problem.” George answered, following behind him.</p><p>True to his word, Dream spotted a collection of shambling corpses circling the area around the station. He couldn’t count how many there were from his position, but there were definitely enough that he wouldn’t be able to deal with them all on his own.</p><p>The zombies hadn’t spotted them yet though. They could blockade the door and wait for them to get bored and pass by. But how long would that take? From his experience, too long.</p><p>“Okay,” He breathed out, taking a step back. “We need to take them out.”</p><p>Wilbur gave him a sidelong glance, contemplating his words. “We?” He questioned, though not maliciously.</p><p>“Yeah, who said we’d help you?” The blond kid spoke up for the first time in a while, folding his arms over his chest.</p><p>“All right. Do nothing and die for all we care.” George deadpanned.</p><p>“Hey, be nice.” Dream chided him automatically, before turning to the other group. “He has a point though. You can’t just do nothing and let this play out. There’s too many risks in that.”</p><p>The brunet kid looked between him and Wilbur, bouncing on his feet like he had too much sugar and was now experiencing the rush of it all. “So what do we do?” He asked eagerly.</p><p>Dream looked to Wilbur, tired brown eyes meeting his. He remained silent, choosing to let the other male decide what to do. They had a temporary alliance it seemed, and he wasn’t willing to create more bad blood between them. Not when it would put both him and George in danger.</p><p>“Okay.” He exhaled, handing his gun to the blond teenager, to his surprise. “Tommy, stay back and cover us. Tubbo, protect Tommy, stop them from getting too close to him. I’ll take the front and pick them off.” A strategy surprisingly similar to the one he and George had adopted over their time together. He turned to Dream and George. “I don’t know what you two are capable of, so just… Do what you can. Just don’t get in our way.”</p><p>George opened his mouth for what was sure to be a snippy reply, but Dream spoke before he could. “Will do. We can handle ourselves, don’t worry about it.”</p><p>“Good.” The three strangers parted from them, each arming themselves in different ways. Wilbur slipped a knife from his pocket, the kid he called ‘Tubbo’ took a machete from his backpack, while Tommy checked the ammo left in his handgun. Each with practiced, efficient movements that told him that this wasn’t their first time doing this. And as much as he blanched at letting a kid use a gun, logically he knew that this was an apocalypse and they had to do whatever they could if they wanted to survive.</p><p>He eyed his companion, a pit in his stomach at the sight of his stony expression.</p><p>George made a move to follow after them, but Dream reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could change his mind. The brunet stopped but didn’t look back. Didn’t look at him. He refused to admit that getting the cold shoulder from him stung.</p><p>“Look, I know we’re angry at each other right now-” He started, not letting go of him, even when he felt his hand clench into a fist.</p><p>“Is this really the time for this?” George sniped, tearing his arm from his grasp.</p><p>“Yes, it is.” He refused to back down, despite the cold look he received at it. “You shouldn’t have pulled a gun on them without trying to talk them down first. They’re just kids. I don’t know about you, but that’s not a line I’m willing to cross. And if you are, then you are <em>not</em> the person that I thought you were.”</p><p>His companion looked away, jaw clenched.</p><p>He let out a slow exhale and reached out again, pressing the flat of his palm against his shoulder. “George, I… Thank you.” His companion jolted, visibly startled by his soft words, but still remained silent. “I don’t like that you threatened those kids, but… I know you were doing it to protect me. So thank you for that.” He gently tugged, turning the reluctant brunet around until they faced each other. “But you need to trust me. I had that under control.”</p><p>“It didn’t look like it.” He muttered, chewing his lip anxiously.</p><p>His heart softened.</p><p>He’d been… worried about him?</p><p>Maybe… Maybe he’d been wrong about George.</p><p>For all his tough talk about not caring if he died or not, maybe he’d gotten more attached than either of them realised.</p><p>The thought extinguished any of the anger that lingered in his chest, understanding replacing the fire with a soothing clarity.</p><p>“I know. And I’m sorry for scaring you.” He apologised.</p><p>“I wasn’t scared.” George scoffed, glancing up at his face, before looking away again. “I just… didn’t want my human shield to die before we even got halfway to our destination.”</p><p>That sounded like the biggest lie he had ever heard, and by the almost embarrassed look on George’s face, he knew it too.</p><p>“Yeah, sure.” He agreed, nonetheless, choosing to let it go. “So… Are we good?” He pressed gently. “You’ve got my back?”</p><p>“Of course I do.” He murmured, taking barely a second to think about it.</p><p>Relief trickled through him and he smiled, though he knew he couldn’t see it. “Thanks. I’ve got your back too.” With one last reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, he finally let go and moved past him, only slowing down when he heard his voice call out,</p><p>“You shouldn’t trust them.” He glanced over his shoulder, meeting piercing brown eyes. “We don’t know them. You shouldn’t trust them.”</p><p>“What, like I shouldn’t have trusted you?” He said quietly.</p><p>George struggled to form a response. “That’s-That’s different. It’s not the same thing.”</p><p>“Isn’t it?”</p><p>He didn’t wait for a reply this time, knowing that one probably wasn’t coming. Slipping his backpack off, he tucked it into an empty space on a dilapidated shelf, knowing that it was only going to get in the way in a fight. He slid his combat knife out of its place on his thigh, circling his wrist a few times experimentally.</p><p>“The usual?” He asked, hearing George’s footsteps approaching.</p><p>“Sure.” He replied, much more subdued now.</p><p>Despite them only being travel companions for a few days, they’d fallen into a rhythm when it came to fighting zombies. He’d found that George was a natural at using a bow, and his gun skills were nothing short of great. He himself wasn’t exactly bad at using guns either, but he much preferred relying on his own skills if possible. So they’d quickly slotted into a now familiar routine whenever they faced the undead; Dream would take them head-on, while George covered him from behind, often downing them for him to finish off easily. It worked well, and they were an efficient team. Much more than Dream had ever thought, seeing as he’d spent so long fighting alone.</p><p>They met the other three at the door, Wilbur peering out through a sliver of unprotected glass to see outside. He glanced at them when they arrived, not mentioning how they’d lingered behind to talk. He was grateful for that.</p><p>“You ready?” He asked, looking between the four of them. Firm nods and steady affirmations gave him the response he needed. “All right, then let’s go.”</p><p>Wilbur pushed through the door, catching the attention of the zombies closest to him. The two teens followed quickly after, then Dream and George, both of them exchanging one last look and a silent <em>‘good luck’ </em>to each other.</p><p>A hoarse shriek, then two, then three, filled the air as hungry, empty eyes found them, warning the other corpses in the area of the new prey. The few that <em>could</em> still run immediately went loping for them frantically, frothing at the mouths, while the ones with gory wounds in their legs took to them at a slower pace, stumbling and collapsing, but closing the distance between them quickly. Gunfire lit up the air, loud and explosive, but weirdly familiar to him at this point.</p><p>And then the undead were upon them.</p><p>Dream jumped forward to meet them. Not hesitating for even a moment, even when a zombie with a gaping hole in its face lunged for him, rotted teeth blackened and falling out. He grabbed onto an outstretched hand and yanked forward, tripping the creature up, and stabbed his knife into the back of its head. The fuckers were fast, but they didn’t have the same reflexes that the living did. It crumpled and he moved on to the next. As much as he wanted to double tap, he didn’t have the time right now.</p><p>He downed another creature with a stab to the temple, steadily making his way through the first wave of zombies without much trouble. As long as he kept dancing out of reach of their mouths and took them out as quickly as he could, he would be fine. He trusted that George had his back and was watching out for any of the creatures he happened to miss.</p><p>A gunshot nearby.</p><p>He noticed a zombie sink to the floor not far from him with a hoarse groan. Downed, but not dead. Before it could clamber back up to its feet or crawl towards them, he was there in a flash, bringing his foot down on its head with as much force as he could muster. There was a crack, but he didn’t stop. He stomped down again, and again, until he felt something give beneath his boot and his foot squished down on something he didn’t want to think about. He silently apologised to his shoes for whatever gunk he’d gotten on them and moved on.</p><p>He ducked beneath a wild lunge and speared the offender up through the jaw. This one didn’t die though, throwing itself at him and swiping madly with decayed nails despite a knife stuck in its chin. He yanked his weapon out and shoved it back. He reared his hand back to strike again, but he didn’t get the chance to. A shot rang out and the zombie jolted, then fell, a hole in its head. He didn’t bother thanking George for the assist. There would be time for that later.</p><p>He slammed his knife into the last one’s head and, realising that he had a second to breathe, he took a moment to repeat the movement two more times. He stepped back, sucking in a shaky breath, and scanned his gaze over the area. The second wave of slower, more incapacitated zombies were drawing close now.</p><p>He glanced over his shoulder, catching George reloading while he had the chance. Tubbo stood by Tommy’s side – those were their names, right? – breathing hard, but looking unharmed. Tommy, with ammo still in his gun, was firing into the oncoming crowd, eyes sharp with his focus as he picked them off one by one. A few corpses littered the area around the two of them, the blade of the brunet’s knife glinting with black blood.</p><p>Those two were a force to be reckoned with, he decided.</p><p>He shifted his gaze to Wilbur, who looked about as he felt. Somewhat out of breath, but not yet tired. He too had a pile of bodies around him. He found himself suddenly immensely relieved that they had these three on their side against the hoard. Their eyes met and he received a reassuring smile and a nod. He returned in kind, though knew that his own smile couldn’t be seen.</p><p>He turned his attention back to the oncoming threats, sucking in a breath, and lowered himself into a defensive stance.</p><p>The first zombie he met was missing an arm, but he didn’t care. He cut it down and moved on, biting through the ranks of grotesque corpses, occasionally moving away to finish off the ones George dropped. A routine, a pattern, a <em>rhythm</em>. Albeit a very bloody, disgusting one.</p><p>And before his very eyes, the end was slowly coming into sight. For just a moment, he allowed himself to hope.</p><p>A splatter of blood sprayed across his face, blinding him for a moment, and he only noticed the zombie crawling to him across the floor when he felt a bony hand clutch at his leg, fingers digging into his skin painfully. He found himself under attack from two zombies at the same time suddenly when a second one threw itself at him before he could move to kick the first one off.</p><p> </p><p>He bit back a curse when one of them grabbed a hold of his arm, nails clawing into the fabric of his jacket. Pain lurched up his arm, its grip bruisingly tight on him, and he found himself unable to pull free. For a moment he wondered if it was strong enough to break bone. It certainly felt like it.</p><p>He used his free hand to grab a handful of its hair to hold its head back and keep its dangerous mouth away from him, though he knew that that wouldn’t last long. Already it was throwing itself so violently at him that he could feel it ripping its own hair out.</p><p>He tried to pull his leg back, but the iron grip on his ankle kept him in place, and his arm shook from the strain of holding the standing zombie away from his all too exposed arm.</p><p>The other yanked on his leg and his hand automatically loosened its hold, pulling him off balance, and he could barely do a thing to defend himself from the onslaught, just barely managing to keep ahold of its hair.</p><p>Fear prickled across his skin, heart jackrabbiting in his chest.</p><p>They were stronger than him. He knew that. They didn’t have to hold themselves back for instinctual fear of injury or bodily harm.</p><p>He couldn’t break himself free.</p><p>The one on the ground screeched and pulled itself closer, the other snapping at him, growing ever closer to pulling itself free. Or pulling him closer. He didn’t know.</p><p>He shoved with all his strength and let go, succeeding in pushing the standing zombie back for a few precious seconds.</p><p>He opened his hand and let his knife drop.</p><p>His left hard darted out and grabbed it mid-air, arm snaking up to crash the blade through the already decomposing jaw of the standing zombie as it lunged for him.</p><p>It gargled but didn’t stop its attack, lurching forward to the arm trapped in its clutches. He used the momentum to dig the knife in deeper with a growl, before ripping its entire lower jaw off with a disgusting squelching noise and a spurt of rancid blood.</p><p>It went for his arm.</p><p>But couldn’t do a thing without its lower jaw.</p><p>It just crashed its bloodied mouth onto his arm uselessly, hard enough to bruise but not nearly hard enough to pierce skin – let alone the fabric of his jacket. So he let it gnaw on his arm like a deadly toddler.</p><p>Neutralised for now, he focused on the crawling corpse, noticing it about to bite into the meat of his leg.</p><p>He smashed his free foot down into its head, slamming it into the ground with a nasty crunching sound. He did it one more time, then focused back on the disarmed zombie practically gumming into his sleeve. He used his foot to kick the standing zombie’s knee in.</p><p>The undead may not feel pain, but even they can’t walk on broken legs. And by the look of that jagged, rotted bone sticking out through the back of its leg, that knee was <em>definitely</em> broken.</p><p>It crashed into the ground and he caved its head in before it could get up again.</p><p>He looked around, panting, but found only a few zombies left. Keeping a closer eye on the ground, he and Wilbur took care of them quickly, moving swiftly and efficiently, both itching to get this fight over with as quickly as possible. One of the shooters had the final kill, though it was a short lived celebration.</p><p>He sucked in a breath, trying to get ahold of himself. His heart flitted in his chest like the feet of a rabbit, pounding loud enough for him to hear in his ears.</p><p>That had been close.</p><p>That had been <em>too</em> goddam close.</p><p>If he’d been just a moment too late, one of them could have-</p><p>He shook himself off once, more to rid himself of the thought than anything on his actual body. His sleeve, though in one piece, would forever be stained with that dark, rancid blood, but there was little he could do about that. And a quick examination of his ankle left him relieved to find nothing more than red finger marks on his skin. Bruises and a few scratches were the worst injuries to come out of this fight, though something much worse had been close to happening.</p><p>He glanced over to see George approaching him, a frown tugging at his brows. His face looked much better, now that he noticed it, the bruises scattered across his skin having dissolved into faint yellows and greens; on the verge of disappearing entirely.</p><p>“What happened back there?” He demanded, scowling down at him on his place on the ground.</p><p>He stared, mind working overtime. Though not on his words. He wondered absently if this was the only way George would ever be able to claim he was taller than him. If he was on his knees in front of him. Another thought made him wonder if maybe he had fallen into a mild state of shock, seeing as how he was struggling to stay focused on a coherent thought at the moment. The adrenaline drop might have been able to explain that too though.</p><p> “They took me by surprise?” It unintentionally came out more as a question than anything else, but he didn’t have the energy to explain himself. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”</p><p>George sighed, a short, huffy thing that made him seem all the more irritated. “Fucking-fine. Just tell me you’re okay.”</p><p>“I’m fine, George. They didn’t bite me.” He stood up, mind automatically flicking to their height difference again, though he shoved that thought away. “You can check if you want.” He said dryly, showing him his blood covered arm.</p><p>“Ew, no. You’re all… gross and stuff.” His companion shoved his arm away, nose crinkling in what he was sure was fake disgust. A laugh bubbled from his lips and he shook his head, withdrawing the offending limb again.</p><p>“All right, if you say so.” He shrugged.</p><p>“W-Wait, Tubbo don’t-”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>A young voice called out. He glanced over George’s shoulder and spotted one of the strangers – the brunet kid – bouncing over to them. And hurriedly following after him was Wilbur, with a pinched look on his face.</p><p>Subconsciously he began bracing himself, not knowing what he was going to have to say, but mildly concerned anyway. This was the part where they chase him and George off at gunpoint. The same song and dance he’d done countless times before. Because while he always hoped that people would be kind and compassionate, chances were that they weren’t in this day and age. So already he was waiting for the blow.</p><p>“That was really cool! Can you stay and teach me how to do that?” The kid beamed up at him.</p><p>His brain short-circuited.</p><p>“Uhhh… What?” Came his intelligent response.</p><p>“The thing you did with your knife and the zombie. You just ripped its jaw right off!” He continued cheerfully, completely oblivious to his bewilderment.</p><p>Was this… Was this really happening? He glanced to Wilbur, then to George, who just looked amused by his confusion, if anything. The stranger gave him a strained, tired looking smile. Like this was a common occurrence of sorts.</p><p>“I’m… not sure we’re going to be staying here much longer, kid.” He tried to let him down as gently as he could.</p><p>His face fell and he felt something sharp dig into his heart.</p><p>“What? But it’s getting late!” He protested, looking up at the sky. He was right about that, now that he took the time to notice. The sun was just starting to set, golden rays of light trickling through the skies and clouds bathed in orange.</p><p>“Sorry. But we’ve overstayed our welcome as it is.”</p><p>He didn’t exactly <em>want</em> to travel through the night, but he knew Wilbur wouldn’t let them stay at the station until the morning. He and George would just have to suck it up and try find somewhere else to camp out. It was unlikely that they’d find another building to stay at, so chances were they would have to settle with sleeping out in the open. In that case, they would probably have to do rotating shifts to keep an eye on their surroundings. Not ideal, but far from the worst case scenario, he supposed.</p><p>“Stay with us for the night then.”</p><p>“Tubbo!” Wilbur scolded immediately. “You know our rules.”</p><p>To his credit, the teenager did look sheepish, scuffing his shoe against the ground. “I know, I know! But they helped us! They can’t be that bad, right?”</p><p>Wilbur’s expression softened gradually. As, it seemed, did his resolve.</p><p>“Tubbo-”</p><p>“Please? They can be trusted, I’m sure of it.”</p><p>Staying there the night would probably be beneficial to both parties. Provided neither tried to rob or kill each other, but he was fairly certain neither <em>would.</em> But he never expected any of them to actually want them to stay.</p><p>He and George exchanged glances, neither of them entirely sure what to say as the two of them argued. He was flattered that the kid was arguing so strongly in their favour, but unsure of <em>why</em> exactly he was so adamant about this. They barely knew each other, and George had held them up at gunpoint. So <em>why</em>?</p><p>For a moment he saw a glimpse of himself in Tubbo, in the soft nature and the trusting eyes, and felt something in his throat constrict.</p><p>Maybe… he was just a kind person at heart.</p><p>Did he really need any other reason than that?</p><p>“Would you guys mind staying here with us?” The question was directed towards them, he realised with a start, and cleared his mind of his prior thoughts.</p><p><em>Should</em> they stay there? He wanted to believe that nothing would happen if they did, but he’d been through too much to know that anything could happen. That appearances weren’t everything. So would they be able to trust these strangers if they did stay?</p><p>He wasn’t sure.</p><p> He looked back down to Tubbo, finding himself immediately ensnared in a pair of puppy-dog eyes and a hopeful smile. And god dammit if he wasn’t soft for kids.</p><p>Screw it. Time to make a leap of faith here.</p><p>“I… I mean… I guess not? If Wilbur is okay with it.” He answered reluctantly, looking back to Wilbur again for confirmation. He didn’t want to do anything that went against what he said.</p><p>Wilbur looked like a long-suffering father as he ran a hand over his face. He sighed, a long, loud thing that just attested to that.</p><p>“Dammit... Look, as long as you can keep your guy in line, you two can stay here for the night. It <em>is</em> getting dark, I don’t really expect you to leave now.”</p><p>Dream blinked a few times; surprised. He ignored the small scoff coming from the brunet besides him. “I-Okay. Yeah, you don’t have to worry about him.”</p><p>“Great!” Tubbo smiled brightly, face glowing from his victory. “My name is Tubbo.”</p><p>“Mine’s Dream. And he’s George.” He responded politely.</p><p>“I’m Wilbur.” The brunet officially introduced himself, then gestured to the blond hovering by the door. “That’s Tommy.”</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you guys. Tomorrow you can teach me how you did that thing! Right?”</p><p>“…Sure.”</p><p>“You know how to use that bow, George?” Wilbur glanced to George, interrupting the kid’s cheerful bouncing. He nodded stiffly, eyeing him suspiciously at the out-of-the-blue question. The sight of his affirmation made him relax slightly. “Good. Because I’ve been trying to hunt, but using a gun isn’t exactly the best way to go about things.” He explained. “If you’re willing, you can go out hunting with me in the morning. Think of it as… payment for us letting you stay here.”</p><p>As far as ‘payment’ goes, that’s far from the worst thing they could have had to do. And it seemed that George figured that too, because he shrugged instead of outright denying him.</p><p>“Fine.” Came his gruff response.</p><p>“Great. Thank you.”</p><p>“Are you guys done talking?” The other kid – Tommy – called out from the doorway, looking bored.</p><p>“Yeah.” Tubbo bounced back to his friend without another word, and the two disappeared back inside the store.</p><p>“The nights get cold out here. I’ll make a fire. We can cook whatever meat we have left too.” Wilbur said, picking up the bag he’d dropped near the door.</p><p>“You really think that’s a good idea?” George asked, eyeing the gas tanks. He had a good point, those would be highly flammable.</p><p>“They’re probably empty by now. And even if they’re not, I’m going to make it far enough away from them that it won’t be a problem.” The taller brunet explained absently, sifting through things in his backpack. “Besides, you’ll be thankful you have it when you take watch duty.”</p><p>“Watch duty?” He repeated.</p><p>Wilbur flashed him a smile, baring sharp teeth. “Well sure. If you’re gonna stay the night, you need to do some work too.”</p><p>“How long are the shifts?”</p><p>The not-so-stranger didn’t have a definitive answer for that, and he took a moment to stop, slender fingers pausing their search for something in his bag. “Well, we’re not sure. We usually just keep an eye on the moon and decide when to switch by watching its progress.” He started up again. “Anyway, let’s not worry about that now. We have a fire to make and food to cook. I’m sure you guys are hungry.”</p><p>Both he and George went still at the implication.</p><p>Was he… Was he saying he was going to <em>share</em> food with them?</p><p>Wilbur noticed their confusion and turned to them, the object he had been searching for now in his palm. A small lighter with a faded sticker wrapped around it. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing. Just… a bit surprised, is all.” George admitted hesitantly, rubbing his arm.</p><p>“Oh, I see.” A glint of understanding dawned in his dark eyes. “You thought we wouldn’t share our food.”</p><p>“Well… Most people don’t.”</p><p>“You’re right. But we’re not most people. Besides, if our hunting trip tomorrow is successful, we’ll more than make up for the food we’ve lost.” He explained, rolling the lighter around his hands. “When’s the last time you had an actual meal?”</p><p>Dream and George exchanged looks once again, a quiet huff of laughing escaping the former’s lips.</p><p>“Too long.” He admitted.</p><p>Wilbur smiled, a softer, more genuine thing that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and softened his face.</p><p>He decided then and there that he trusted him. Because while his eyes were hard with his resolve, there was also something kind about them. Something <em>good</em> in him that was undeniable. Maybe there were more good people left in the world than he had once thought…</p><p>“Then gather up some sticks for me and let’s get cooking.”</p>
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